Forever
by Wynter Flame
Summary: Eventual HD Slash. "One of our spies has been caught and is presumed dead. . . . Draco Malfoy." "There is no more someday, except for the one upon which we all die." What must one do, to win a war? Harry finally finds out.
1. chapter 1

**Warning:** This is **slash** in case you missed it in the summary. If you don't like it, don't read it, but **do not flame me for it** because I don't particularly care what you think if you were dumb enough to ignore the numerous warnings. Thank you and have a nice day. J

Author's Note: Hello all. This is new, and a bit deeper than my other fic, Unexpected savior. Sort of, anyway. So, hope you like it!

The sound of quick steps invaded Dumbledore's magically enlarged office, but no one was visible.

Everyone in the Order had grown accustom to this, as the invisibility cloak was the only way their youngest member could make it to meetings.

Harry inhaled the scent of old books mixed with lemon drops and almost smiled. It was comfortingly familiar, something he'd needed after the events of last summer. 

Pulling off the cloak, Harry said, "Sorry I'm late, everybody. Filch."

There were a few smiles, and then all eyes were on Dumbledore again, wondering why there was a meeting being held on a Sunday night when they'd just had their last meeting a little over a week ago.

With a smile that came nowhere near to reaching his eyes, the Headmaster informed Harry, "You just missed the formalities."

He waited patiently for Harry to take a seat.

Looking around, Harry noticed with a vague sense of horror that the only empty seat was next to Mrs. Weasley. She greeted him with what he guessed was supposed to be a warm smile, but sorrow overshadowed her features. He nodded, unable to meet her eyes as he sat down.

"I'm sure all of you are curious as to why you're here," Dumbledore began. The twinkle was gone from his eyes, and on anyone else, the expression could have been called grave. "There's no way to put it gently. One of our spies has been caught, and is presumed dead."

Gasps were heard, and Harry's sense of comfort vanished as he searched the room for missing faces. Snape, Remus, Sirius…the room came into sharp relief as time seemed to freeze. "Not Sirius?" he choked out.

Dumbledore raised a hand for silence, and the room was instantly quiet. "The spy was a student here, I'm sure some of you knew him, or rather, his father. Draco Malfoy."

The room exploded into chaos. Cries of "What?!" and "No!" and "You can't be serious!" echoed off the walls.

Harry sat silently, watching the outcry in stunned detachment. Malfoy. As in Draco-Slytherin-ferret-face-pureblooded-spoiled-arrogant-prat-Malfoy. His rival was dead. Somehow, Harry couldn't believe it. The thought that the slimy git was a spy was more plausible than his being dead. Cockroaches were nearly impossible to kill, after all.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Arthur Weasley, who'd made his way to Dumbledore and was currently demanding, "A Malfoy? What the bloody hell were you thinking, Albus? The little Death Eater brat is probably selling secrets to the other side! He's the-"

"Do you question my judgment, Arthur?" Dumbledore interrupted, voice deceptively quiet. Somehow it managed to silence the entire room.

Molly Weasley stood and grabbed Arthur, dragging him back to his seat and silencing his protests with a glare. When he was seated, she sent a weary glance to the front of the room. "Of course not, Albus, but after last summer-" her voice cracked. After a deep breath, she continued, "I think we deserve an explanation."

Sympathetic looks were directed towards Molly, and Harry tried not to scoff. Did they honestly think no one could tell they were thinking 'thank the gods it wasn't me'? He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. They were trying, and it was all he could ask.

"I was getting to that. At the beginning of his 6th year, Mr. Malfoy came to me, and revealed the Dark Mark on his wrist. He'd gotten it over the summer, under his father's Imperius."

Some looked shocked; others just shook their heads sadly. _Really_, Harry thought to himself, _they didn't expect this of Lucius? The man is even more of a bastard than his son, and that's saying something._

Once he had everyone's full attention, Dumbledore continued, "The boy was furious, and offered his services as a spy. After a lengthy discussion and a bit of training, I agreed." Looking at Arthur, he added softly, "He was a wonderful actor, had his father and Voldemort fooled, but no one can lie under Veritaserum, and Draco Malfoy did not betray us. Nor is he in any way responsible for your daughter's death."

Harry could have told him that. After all, he'd been the one to watch Ginny die. The subdued voices wrapped around him, and he listened without really hearing. _Don't think about Ginny,_ he told himself. _Think about Malfoy, about the fact that he's been in the Order nearly as long as you have._ How strange it was, trying to fit Draco Malfoy, spy for the Order, with the bully who tormented him and his friends.

"Harry," a voice called gently. He looked up, startled to see everyone filtering out of the office.

Molly Weasley was standing in front of him, looking worried and sad and a hundred other things, none of which was good. "I'm sorry about your classmate. Even a Malfoy doesn't deserve to die so young. Goodnight Harry, give Ron and-" She stopped, tears filling her eyes. "Give Ron my love," she whispered, and then she too left, with Arthur's arm around her shaking shoulders.

Harry felt tears spring to his own eyes, but he didn't cry. Crying was a useless waste of time, hadn't he learned that from the Dursleys? Picking up the invisibility cloak, he muttered a goodbye in the direction of the Headmaster before draping it around himself.

Walking to the door, he opened it and then, before he had time to think about it, closed it without leaving. Staring at the closed door in shock, Harry wondered why the hell he'd just done that. _How in the world do I get out of here without looking like a bloody fool?_

He turned, prepared to say he'd forgotten something, had something else to say, but the sight before him froze the words in his throat.

Dumbledore had dropped his powerful façade, making him look old and exhausted. Eyes sinking closed, said softly to Fawkes, "I will fight to the death for these children. All of us will. And without Mr. Malfoy, it will all be for naught."

Harry was confused. He was supposed to be "The Savior of the Wizarding World" and all that rot, so what did anything have to do with Malfoy? He was still trying to figure it out when he heard footsteps outside the door. Jumping back, he barely managed to avoid being hit as Snape walked in.

"Sorry I couldn't make it, Albus," the Potions professor said, not sounding at all apologetic. "Longbottom was serving detention. What'd I miss?"

"Nothing you didn't already know," Dumbledore sighed. "And you shouldn't be so hard on Mr. Longbottom. He will be a great wizard someday."

 Snape scoffed. "That boy has melted more cauldrons than anyone in the history of Hogwarts." Voice growing quieter, he added, "And you know as well as I that there is no more 'someday' except for the one upon which we all die."

"Perhaps-" Dumbledore began.

"There is no perhaps," Snape interrupted wearily. "Do you think I haven't tried to find one? The spell is very specific; the only two strong enough who fit its requirements were Draco and Potter. Three wandlesses each," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "It was never guaranteed, Albus, but it's always been our only hope. There is no other way."

_Malfoy has three wandlesses? _Harry though, surprised. _Well, one of them is Charms. _It wasn't that hard to figure out, he'd seen Malfoy training with Flitwick last year. Realizing he hadn't been paying attention, he turned back to the conversation. 

"Is there any chance that Mr. Malfoy still lives?"

"I believe you asked me that about Narcissa, too," Snape answered. His expression mirrored that of Sirius's, when he thought he'd lost Remus last year.

Harry was surprised. Snape was in love? He hadn't thought it even possible for a man so bitter. Narcissa, Narcissa, he'd heard the name before, but where?

"Mrs. Malfoy hasn't been found dead, Severus."

"Nor has she been found living. Don't try to revive hopes that have been dead longer than you've known of them," Snape said softly, a hint of steel in his voice. "Goodnight, Albus." He turned and walked out without waiting for a reply.

Harry ran after him, seeing his chance of escape. He slid out the door and ran straight into his least favorite professor.

Snape sighed, "Potter," without turning around. "Somebody should burn that damned cloak of yours. I suppose you heard everything, then?"

"Yeah," Harry answered quietly, eyes downcast, not that Snape could tell. There was no point in lying, but he shouldn't have heard any of it.

"Just because you cannot win is no reason not to fight."

"Of course. Goodnight Professor."

"Goodnight Potter."

Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common room, seeing Ron and Hermione waiting up, though it was past midnight. They always waited up for him.

"Was it bad?" Ron asked as Harry removed the cloak.

Harry studied his friend a moment before answering. Ron rarely smiled anymore, and only for Hermione and Harry. His eyes were darker, not in color, but in what they showed, and he had lost the innocence of someone who thought they were invincible. He knew death struck randomly and without mercy.

 "Malfoy was spying for the Order. He got caught." He couldn't bring himself to tell them the rest, to watch all hope fade from his best mate's eyes as he was told they were all going to die.

"Ferret bastard! He's the one who killed my sister! He's going to wish he'd never been born when I'm through with him!" Ron's face was contorted with fury, an ugly mask.

Hermione calmed him with a hand on his arm, and Harry almost smiled. So like Molly and Arthur.

"He had nothing to do with it," Harry said tiredly. He met Hermione's eyes and saw the quiet sympathy there. A part of him wished he could talk to her alone, she would listen and tell him how to fix everything; she would know what to do.

"How do you know?" Ron demanded, instantly regretting it as he saw the look in Harry's eyes.

"How do I know, Ron?" Harry asked, voice soft and deadly. "How do I know? I was tortured for two weeks, I saw them kill her! How the bloody hell do you think I know?!"

Hermione reached out a hand to touch Harry's arm. She was the only one who knew what really happened, having pried the story out of him after she found him in the bathroom bleeding, the mirror shattered by his fist. "I'm sorry. Sorry for what happened, sorry we didn't get there sooner. It will never be enough, but we're here for you now, Harry."

Ron's eyes looked as they had when Harry told him Ginny was dead, grief carved into the lines of his face. "I'm sorry mate," he whispered roughly.

Running a hand through his hair, Harry stood. "I know. And it's not your fault. Goodnight Ron, Mione." He walked to his dorm, stripped down to his boxers, and climbed into bed, wishing he still believed in miracles.

Author's Note: Love it? Hate it? Tell me! (please)


	2. chapter 2

**Warning:** This is **slash** in case you missed it in the summary. If you don't like it, don't read it, but **do not flame me for it** because I don't particularly care what you think if you were dumb enough to ignore the numerous warnings. Thank you and have a nice day

Author's Note: Yes, I know, how can it be HD slash if Malfoy is dead? Keep reading!

His head ached; it felt as though someone was pounding a chisel through his scar. As his vision cleared, Harry understood the reason – Voldemort. He was inside the Dark Lord's mind, although it was different than it had been when the visions first began.

Apparently Voldemort had trained in his own form of Occlumency, enough to keep Harry from reading his thoughts or emotions, but not enough to keep the Boy-Who-Lived out completely.

Gritting his teeth, Harry forced himself through the pain, and was shocked to see just who was on the ground before him, writhing in silent pain. Blonde hair, though liberally coated in blood, silver-blue eyes full of pain and fury. Draco Malfoy.

The Death Eaters had obviously lost interest in the simple Crucio, and were using knives dripping with a viscous substance – most likely the potion used to enhance pain. To his credit, Malfoy didn't scream, though neither had Harry when they'd done it to him.

It was getting harder and harder to concentrate through his own pain. By now, his skull felt as though it was about to explode, and the last thing he heard as he rose back to consciousness was Voldemort's voice, hissing, "I will see the traitor broken or dead by nightfall tomorrow!"

He sat up with a gasp of pain, and instantly regretted the movement. His stomach heaved, and for a second, he was sure he was going to throw up. Holding his breath, Harry ran a finger gingerly over his scar. It came away wet with blood. 

At least he knew now. Malfoy wasn't dead, but he would be in a matter of hours.  _It's always been our only hope. There is no other way. _ Snape's words echoed hauntingly in his head. _No other way._ 

Throwing on a pair of jeans, not bothering with a shirt, Harry ran down to Snape's rooms, a plan forming in his mind.

After five minutes of furious pounding, Snape came to the door, bleary eyed and looking angry. "What the hell – Potter? This had better be good."

"Malfoy is alive," Harry replied bluntly.

"How do you know?" There was a faint trace of hope in the Potions Master's voice, but

he looked as though he didn't believe a single word.

"I saw him, in a vision. He was," Harry paused, the images of the blonde being sliced into overlaid with his own memories. "He was being tortured."

"It's a trap, Potter. Just like the one that nearly killed your godfather, just like the one that killed Ms. Weasley." Snape sighed as the seventeen year old flinched. "It's three in the morning. I'll not be bothered with your nightmares. Please, Potter, go back to bed and talk to the Headmaster in the morning."

The door was closed in Harry's face, and he heard a Silencing Charm being cast. "Fuck you!" he yelled at the wooden barrier. He sank to the ground, head in his hands. Something needed to be done now, not whenever it was convenient. By the time it was convenient, Malfoy would be dead. _No other way._

Resolutely, he stood. If they weren't going to help him, he'd do it alone. Smirking as he broke into Snape's office, he went straight to the supply cabinet.

The hinges squeaked and groaned and Harry froze, wishing for his invisibility cloak. It hadn't seemed necessary before, but now…

When it became apparent that no one was going to rush in demanding to know what he was doing, he opened the doors the rest of the way, wincing every time they made a sound.

Thankfully, besides keeping all of the potions meticulously labeled, Snape also kept them in unbreakable jars after an incident last year, most likely involving Neville.

"Numbing Salve, N, N," Harry muttered to himself as he ran a finger along the dust free vials. He knew there'd be no dust as he'd been the one to clean them in his latest detention for fighting with the very student he was now attempting to save. "Ah-hah!" He grabbed four vials, hoping it would be enough. He didn't know how long this was going to take, and Malfoy would probably need some too.

Thinking of Malfoy made Harry wonder exactly how much healing the Slytherin would need. He hadn't been able to guess at the extent of the other boy's injuries with Death Eaters surrounding him.

He was a fairly good healer in his own right, but…"Ahh, here, good." Four vials of phoenix tears followed the numbing potion. Snape was going to murder him, that was if Voldemort didn't, but it was necessary.

Leaving the dungeons with what amounted to over twenty thousand Galleons worth of potions, Harry went back to Gryffindor tower, walking into the bathroom and stopping to give his eyes time to adjust as it lit up for him. Now for the hard part.

Voldemort couldn't be attacked, and a solo rescue mission was suicide. So, Harry had decided, he was going to infiltrate the Death Eaters. After Malfoy being caught, the Order would need a new spy anyway.

Most wizards could work wandless in one area, some of the more powerful, in two. Harry himself could work in three, though at Dumbledore's orders, not even Ron or Hermione knew.

Healing was the first of his talents, and also the only one of which his friends knew. He could do glamours better than almost any wizard alive, saving Dumbledore, and had been in private lessons with McGonagall since Christmas sixth year for Transfiguration.

With the second and third, he slowly began forming his new identity.

When he emerged an hour later, exhausted but triumphant, he knew no one would recognize him. He'd tried to stay somewhat close to his own looks, though, because jumping every time he walked past a mirror would be a bit suspicious.

His jet black hair, which had grown a bit long and ragged, was now short, spikes tipped in silver. He was about four inches taller, making him two inches taller than Malfoy. Not that he'd kept track or anything.

The glasses had had to go, much as he hated it, transfigured into contacts that he never had to take out. His eyes were now a dark, piercing blue, flecked with silver and green, a touch of irony.

His slim frame, which had filled out from Quidditch, was now back on the scrawny side, though he'd still have the strength from unseen muscles. It was easier to maintain than a bulky figure, and he'd be able to move more gracefully. He doubted Voldemort needed anymore bumbling idiots, what with Crabbe and Goyle's fathers.

The naturally tanned skin, even darker from a summer spent in the sun, was a few shades paler, a creamy white. He'd grimaced as he made that change, thinking, _Not only do I have to save Malfoy, I now look like the ponce._

His nose, slightly crooked after being broken in a fight with Malfoy at the end of fifth year (he'd broken the Slytherin's ribs, so he figured they were about even), was straight again, his high cheekbones a bit sharper. 

The lightning bolt scar that identified him as the Boy-Who-Lived was, of course, gone, though he'd need the numbing potion if he intended to spend any time in the Dark Lord's presence.

The hardest changes, also those that would convince Voldemort that he wasn't Harry Potter, were what had taken so long.

First, with the Occlumency taught to him by both Snape and Dumbledore (He'd advanced past the level of his Potions Professor last spring), he'd woven something akin to a net around his mind. It was very subtle, requiring concentration, control, delicacy, and a ridiculous amount of power. It would allow the Dark Lord in, unlike his usual shields, but it would also give him complete control over what the other wizard saw, unbeknownst to Voldemort himself, of course.

Next, he'd cloaked his power. It was dangerous, because it not only concealed his magic, it blocked it off. He'd burn out faster than he was used to, but it was also one of the first things Voldemort would check.

Checking the clock, he saw it was nearly 4:30. Fuck, he hadn't meant to take so long. Grabbing a quill and a piece of parchment, he scrawled:

                        Ron and Mione,

                                    I've gone off to save the world. Don't look for me, I'm

                                    completely serious, all of our lives depend on it. Thank

                                    you for everything, I love you. Tell Sirius and Remus I love

                                    them, and don't let anyone follow me.

                                                                                                Love,

                                                                                                            Harry

Short and to the point. He didn't have time for anything else. Leaving the note on his pillow, Harry threw on a set of black robes over the faded jeans he already wore as he dug through the chest at the foot of his bed. Finding a small pack, he tossed in the potions he'd stolen from Snape along with all of the money he had on him.

Finally, he pulled on a pair of black dragon-hide boots, wrapped himself in his invisibility cloak, and left the dorm.

His first stop was the kitchens, where the house elves were already making breakfast. "Dobby!" he whisper-shouted.

Though he was still invisible, Dobby seemed to be able to sense where he was and stopped just in front of him. "Yes, Harry Potter sir? What can Dobby be doing for Harry Potter?"

Harry pulled out his wand and, giving it a last longing look, handed it over to the house elf. "I need you to hide this Dobby. Don't give it to anyone who can't give you the password." He knelt down next to Dobby's ear and whispered, "Slythindor saviors."

"Of course, anything for Harry Potter sir," the house elf squeaked, looking honored.

Smiling Harry said softly, "Thank you Dobby. Make sure no one knows you have it. Goodbye."

He padded out, cat-like footsteps silent on the stone floor. Outside, the sun was coming up over the Forbidden Forest. It was beautiful, but Harry didn't have time to appreciate it. Jogging to the edge of Hogwarts, he looked back one last time at the place he considered home and Apparated to Diagon Alley. It was illegal, but it wasn't as though anyone could see him, so…

After checking to make sure no one was around (who would be at five in the morning?), he pulled off his invisibility cloak and shoved it into his pack. Stepping into Ollivander's Wand Shop, he was unsurprised to see Ollivander up and about already. He wondered if the man ever slept. Barely remembering to transfigure his voice, he said, "I need a – no wait, two wands."

"And your name is?"

"Adrian Jamison Blackwell," Harry answered easily, having come up with a name while he made the changes to his appearance. "The other wand is for Draco Malfoy."

"What happened to your wand?" Ollivander asked. Before he could answer, another question was fired at him. "Wand hand?"

"Um, left." Harry was suddenly grateful for the broken arm that couldn't be healed with magic; it had made him almost as comfortable with his left hand as his right. "I never had one. Malfoy's was, er, broken."

"Yes, as I knew," Ollivander muttered, handing him a wand and then snatching it back almost instantly. "I have his other one, set it aside years ago."

Harry nodded as another wand was thrust into his hand. Ollivander smiled strangely. "Ah, yes, it would be that one, wouldn't it? 11 inch willow, with a core of unicorn hair, dragon heartstring and phoenix feather. Would you like to know what's in Mr. Malfoy's wand?"

Checking the clock over the door, Harry nodded. It would be good to know, in case Malfoy asked.

"11 inch willow, unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, phoenix feather."

Harry stared at him in shock. "But no two wands are alike."

"Ah, Mr. Blackwell, they aren't exactly the same. Heartstring from different dragons, you see. Also," Instead of finishing, Ollivander grabbed another wand and shoved it into Harry's hand.

It was black, where Harry's was pale, and it felt…off, almost right but not quite.

"They will serve you well, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked up, ready to protest, when Ollivander smiled his strange smile again. "I'll not tell a soul. You'd best go, it's getting late."

Nodding, he walked out. Now that he had Malfoy's wand, essentially an extension of Malfoy himself, he could begin tracking.

Ron woke up to the sounds of Seamus, Dean and Neville getting ready, a strange occurrence. Harry always woke him up in the morning, usually by throwing a pillow at him or something similar.

Shaking his head, he figured the other boy must have overslept. He climbed out of bed, throwing open the curtains to Harry's. "Hey, mate-" the words died on his lips as he saw that the messy bed was empty.

A piece of parchment caught his attention, and he read the words, all traces of sleep vanishing as he ran out of the room to his dorm mates concerned shouts.

"Hermione!" he yelled, trying to run up the stairs to the girls' dorms. They melted into a slide and he tumbled back down. "Bloody hell! Hermione!" He began trying to climb the slide, a useless attempt. The younger years were looking at him as though he were mad, not that he noticed.

Hermione opened the door, the slide immediately turning into stairs again. Ron winced as an edge caught him in the ribs. "Mione," he panted. "Look," he held out the now slightly crumpled parchment.

As she read it, her face went white, the parchment dropping unnoticed to the ground. "He'll be killed," she whispered. "And he knew it."

"What do we do, Hermione?" Ron asked impatiently, a thread of desperation lacing his voice. _Mione__ will know what to do. Mione _always_ knows what to do. _

"We-I-" Pulling herself together, she said, "We'll go to Dumbledore."

Ron nodded, and picked up the note from where it had fallen. "He'll know what to do."

Author's Note:  Please review so I know whether to update or scrap it.


	3. chapter 3

Warning still applies, but if you've read this far, you probably don't care, so…

Author's Note: **Thank you** to all of my reviewers, I was kind of surprised, actually. I love you guys!

Five hours later, exhausted, dirty, and having used most of his magic to find it, Harry stood outside of an impressive manor. Twin statues of jackals glared at him from either side of the huge door, but he was too tired to be intimidated.

He walked in, startled at the lack of security. The smell of dust and mold and death attacked him, and he nearly gagged. Before he could decide which way to go, Peter Pettigrew appeared from around a corner. His eyes widened at the sight of the unfamiliar teen.

"Take me to the Dark Lord," Harry snarled, unable to keep his fury completely in check. His head hurt a bit, and he was grateful for the salve he'd put on awhile ago. The ache grew as he followed Pettigrew, and when they finally stopped outside a door, he knew Voldemort was inside.

"Well?" Harry demanded.

Pettigrew opened the door, announcing timidly, "A visitor, master."

Harry swept past him, bowing low. "My lord." His heart was pounding furiously at the sight of Voldemort. His head was throbbing, it felt like the world's worst migraine, but at least he could stand. _What if my scar starts bleeding? Will the glamour cover the blood? What if the net doesn't work?_ _Gods, this was stupid! It's not working, he knows it's me, I'm about to die for _Malfoy_ of all people!_ _I'm sorry Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore_-his frantic thoughts were interrupted as Voldemort scowled, "Who are you? You don't bear my mark."

"Adrian Blackwell, my lord." Harry replied, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him. "And I do not yet bear your mark, but I have journeyed far to join your ranks."

"Very well. Peter," the rat-like man scurried over, "take him to a guest room." With a sinister smile, he added darkly, "I'll test him when he's rested."

On the way to Dumbledore's office they'd been caught by Snape, who told them in no uncertain terms that whatever they needed to speak to the Headmaster about could wait until lunch.

Now, finally, the rest of their classmates were in the Great Hall eating, and Ron and Hermione were standing outside the door to the Headmaster's office, having realized that they didn't know the password.

After twenty minutes of random words, Hermione was surprised as the gargoyle jumped out of the way for "Ranch Doritos". Ron looked at her in amazement. She just shook her head as they walked in. "Muggle crisps. The most powerful wizard in the world and his password is a brand of Muggle crisps."

She stopped caring as she looked back down at the note in her hand. She'd always been afraid Harry would do this, especially after Ginny's death, but… "He's gone Headmaster. Harry's gone." She handed him the parchment, watching his expression turn grave as he read it. "What do we do?"

"There's nothing you can do now, Ms. Granger," Dumbeldore replied solemnly. "Nothing but wait."

The Gryfindors stared at him in shock for a moment before Hermione turned and walked out, Ron quickly following her lead.

Harry woke for the ninth time, checking the clock. It had been fifteen minutes since the last time looked. Sighing, he yawned, still tired. It was nearly impossible to sleep when someone who had you at the top of their hit list was only a few rooms down, very possibly plotting your death.

Deciding he wasn't going to get anymore sleep, Harry climbed out of bed and walked to the small window. Outside, waves crashed on jagged rocks against a backdrop of a gray, stormy sky. He scoffed. _How original._

He wished he could see through the glamour to the actual outside of the manor, or even better, remove it, but he wasn't dead yet, and he wanted to keep it that way. If he was going to be killed, it wouldn't be for something stupid.

His magic had begun to replenish while he slept, and food would help, if he ever got any. With one more longing look at the window, wishing he could jump out and run back to Dumbledore, Harry pulled open the door.

A giant of a man who looked a lot like Goyle was standing outside, apparently waiting for him. He turned and walked down the hall, obviously expecting to be followed.

Harry watched him for a minute, wondering what would happen if he turned and ran in the opposite direction. _I'd get lost and die_, he told himself, and followed the man resignedly.

Before going to sleep, or at least trying to sleep, he'd put more of the numbing salve on his forehead, though he could still feel a twinge of pain.

Way too soon, an ornately carved door was in front of them, depicting snakes winding around each other. Fangs were bared, and as they walked through, Harry could have sworn one of them hissed at him. He couldn't understand what was said, though it sounded like a warning.

Voldemort, who'd been discussing something with Pettigrew, turned, and pain exploded behind Harry's eyes. _Fuck!_ He thought as he bowed low, biting back a groan. _Snape's__ potion must be wearing off_. "My lord," he greeted, thankful that his voice showed nothing of what he was feeling.

"Why have you come here?" the Dark Lord asked, his high pitched voice sending waves of pain through Harry's skull.

"To become a Death Eater, my lord. I hoped to become a spy, because I'm in the process of transferring to Hogwarts."

"Why have you only come now?" Voldemort demanded.

"I didn't think I would be of any use to you, before, my lord, and I'd heard you didn't accept students," Harry explained, hoping he sounded sincere. Did he sound too sincere? It was hard to think with his head hurting so badly.

Voldemort seemed to fall into a trance, and before long, Harry could feel a probing at the shields he'd automatically thrown up when he arrived at the Manor. Wishing there was some other way; he slowly let them down, and felt his mind being invaded.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the probes retreated, and Harry threw up his strongest shields and looked expectantly into glowing red eyes.

"You speak Parseltongue."

Eyes widening faintly, the only outward show of horror, Harry realized that he'd either let a memory slip past his net, or it hadn't worked at all. Taking a deep breath, he realized that he would have been dead if it didn't work. "No, my lord. Someone from my mother's side of the family could, and it's been passed down since then, but none of us can make it work."

Harry Potter, Voldemort hissed, suspicion and anger lacing the cold, metallic voice.

Harry looked at him blankly for a few seconds before asking, "What was that, my lord? I told you I don't understand snake-speak."

He instantly regretted the arrogance in his tone as Voldemort raised his wand, saying, "Crucio!" There was a dark pleasure in his eyes as the spell was cast, and then Harry couldn't see anything at all as he closed his eyes against the pain.

He was awash in a sea of agony, a thousand burning knives cutting him from the inside out as he sank to his knees. Silent screams tore at his throat, but he'd learned well over the summer, and refused to make a sound. Blackness rushed towards him as he fell the rest of the way to the ground.

His body was convulsing, his head slammed against the stone floor, but he didn't know. He was lost in the pain of the spell as unconsciousness crept closer and closer. It would take him from this torment, but he couldn't succumb, couldn't…give…in…

"Finite Incantatum," the Dark Lord called, sounding faintly disappointed.

Aftershocks still flowing through his tortured body, Harry stood. His whole body shook, it was taking all of his strength just to stay upright, and he could taste blood from where he'd bitten through his lip. "I deserved that, my lord, and I apologize." His voice was hoarse, and he wanted nothing more than to use whatever was left of it to cast an Avada Kedavra on the monster in front of him.

"You have power, and strength of will. Your arrogance can be…cured." Voldemort smiled his dark smile as he asked, "Any requests?"

Harry knew the answer was supposed to be 'whatever my lord wishes,' but he had not just suffered the worst Cruciatus Curse in his life for nothing. "Yes, my lord."

Surprise and curiosity played across snake-like features as Voldemort motioned for him to continue.

It hurt to breathe. Gritting his teeth, Harry continued, "I hear you have the Malfoy traitor here." A nod. "I've also heard there are some things even your most loyal Death Eaters refuse to do." _Well, not so much _heard _as _experienced_._

At first, Voldemort looked angry at the implication, and Harry braced himself for another round with the Cruciatus Curse. Then, understanding dawned, and Voldemort nodded again.

"I would be willing to do it, with the right potions. What matters more to a Malfoy than pride? It would break him." Harry knew it would have broken him, if the Death Eaters had raped him. He wouldn't do it to Malfoy, but he needed some way to get the blonde in his possession.

"A touch of twisted darkness," the evil wizard muttered to himself. "Yes. Yes you may take him. But be warned: I do not give such responsibilities over lightly."

_In other words, he's going to want proof._ _What the hell was I thinking? I can't do this! _No_. One step at a time._ "Yes my lord. May I see him; perhaps bring him to my room?"

"You will be given your own set of rooms to stay in until you are initiated, on Thursday. My servant," He motioned towards Peter, who practically flew to his side, "will take you to the dungeon to receive your new…slave."

Harry bowed low, and tried not to scream. Broken rib, maybe more than one. "Thank you my lord," he panted.

"And Blackwell?"

Nearly at the door, Harry turned, trying not to groan. _I was almost _out_. _

"Those who betray me live to regret it. But not for long."

Hoping Voldemort said that to all new recruits, Harry nodded and followed Pettigrew down to the dungeons. Idly, he wondered what it said about his life that he was used to dealing with this much pain.

By the time they reached the first cells, Harry was gasping, each shallow breath hurting his chest more as he laid a hand against the rough, moldy wall for support.

Turning around, Pettigrew smirked. "Hurry up Blackwell."

"At least I shall never be a submissive rat," Harry spat.

The smirk faded as the Death Eater turned around, purposely speeding his pace. A few cells from the end, he stopped, muttering, "Here."

Harry looked in and felt his eyes go wide. Though Malfoy had been there less than a week (Harry had seen him in classes Wednesday), he looked as though he'd been starved for months. Lank blonde hair covered one silver-blue eye. The other eye was swollen shut, a dark bruise marred one pale cheek, and Harry thought he saw blood dripping down the other side of his face. The rest of the skin he could see was covered in cuts or bruises, and blood had soaked through his dirty robes in more places than he could count.  "Look at me, traitor," he growled, feeling sick.

A hand with at least three broken fingers rose slowly to push the hair away from his good eye, and Harry could see the long jagged wound down the side of his rival's face. The edges were black, as though it had been burned into his skin.

"Well, you're new," a hoarse voice drawled thickly. Draco studied the two people standing in front of his cell. One he recognized as Voldemort's sniveling right hand. The other couldn't have been more than a year older than Draco himself, and didn't look too good.

A swollen, bloody lip, dark circles under red rimmed, deep blue eyes, black hair tipped with silver that he suspected was coated in blood from a cut near the boy's temple. His breath was shallow and he was leaning on the wall for balance. "Who're you?"

"Adrian Blackwell, your new master." The words felt strange as they crossed Harry's lips, but it was all he could say with Pettigrew standing beside him.

Draco knew he was supposed to be killed in a few hours, and after the last few days, the knowledge had come more as a relief than anything. The dead didn't feel pain, after all. Now, though…this was someone on the other side, another torturer. Voldemort wanted him broken. And this was to be the one who did it. _Perhaps if I can anger him enough to kill me outright_…Draco didn't finish the thought, surprised at himself. He used to be someone who'd never give up, and here he was, hoping for death.

Looking at Pettigrew, Harry ordered, "Open his cell and bring him to my rooms." He drew his wand and mumbled a few words under his breath for show. In reality, he was silently using his wandless magic.

Draco felt the spell hit him, and weakly braced himself for the pain. Instead, it felt as though most of his wounds, like his right arm hanging uselessly, broken in four places, were numb.

"That spell will keep him from fighting," Harry lied, a brief glance at Malfoy ordering him to play along.

Draco nodded almost imperceptibly. The door to his cell was opened, and he, Blackwell, and Pettigrew made their way slowly to Blackwell's rooms.

Snape was in the middle of a first year lesson, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. He couldn't tell if he was actually teaching them anything, and their fear of him was rather annoying after two months.

With a puff of smoke, a piece of parchment appeared on his desk. Picking it up, he read it, rolling his eyes. "Class dismissed," he announced exasperatedly. _What can Albus want now?_

Five minutes later, walking into the Headmaster's office, he could tell something was wrong. "What is it Albus?"

"Harry Potter is gone. I need you to keep an eye on the situation with Voldemort, make sure he hasn't been kidnapped."

They both remembered what it had been like a few months ago. It had been they who saw him first, burned, bruised, bloody. Whispering one thing, as he'd obviously screamed himself hoarse days before. "Ginny."

"Is he-"

Knowing what Snape was asking, Dumbledore replied, "It looks as though he left on his own, willingly. He left a note, telling Ms. Granger and Mr.Weasley he was 'off to save the world'." He allowed a small smile to cross his face.

"Bloody hell," Snape muttered, pressing a hand to his temples. "I should have known."

"Should have known what?"

"Last night Potter heard what was said between you and I. He had a dream last night, and came to me, saying Draco was alive. I told him to go to you in the morning."

"Last night…but how-Great Merlin! Do you realize, Severus, that if he was in the room undetected, he's surpassed even me in Occlumency?"

"He's powerful," Snape allowed. "But what are we to do? After Draco, there are no other Death Eater students, as you know, but we cannot hide something as big as the Boy-Who-Lived going missing."

"The situation in the wizarding world right now is…turbulent. We'll say he's gone into hiding, a safe house of sorts." The lie came easily to Dumbledore-Hermione wasn't the only one who'd feared that this would come to pass.

Snape nodded, promising to keep an ear out for any information from the Death Eaters. "Who'll tell McGonagall?"

With a sigh, Dumbledore said, "She's been told and…isn't pleased." Wincing, he motioned towards a broken portrait frame. "I've rarely seen her magic out if control, but before it was never so powerful."

"Who will know the truth?"

"You and I, Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, and Minerva. She informed Mr.Potter's friends of the need to keep this quiet, though I suspect they already knew. We'll have to inform Remus Lupin and Sirius Black."

Neither man relished that task, imagining the hot temper of one and the cold fury of the other.

"Owl them from an undisclosed location," Snape suggested, and they shared a small humorless smile.

"Yes, I believe that would be the safest plan, though not very practical. I'll write them tonight." Checking a clock, Dumbldore sighed. "Supper. We'll announce the news now. May as well get it over with."

_So, tell me what you think…_


	4. chapter 4

Everyone's gotten the warning by now right? So I can stop posting it? 'Cause this is the last time I'm mentioning a warning.

Also though I should mention for the sake of anyone deluded enough to think that I'm JK Rowling that hey, I'm not, everything belongs to her, not me.

**Author's note: **I'm updating really fast because I have up to chapter 5 already written, and I'm really bored at the moment. I also added chapter 10 to Unexpected savior, if anyone's been reading that.

Once they'd reached Harry's rooms, Pettigrew was politely escorted out. (Okay, okay, so Harry threatened him. It was basically the same thing, among the Death Eaters.)

Before Draco could ask any questions, Harry came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Draco's waist. "Charms are one of your wandlesses, right?" he whispered.

Opening his mouth to ask how the hell Blackwell knew that when not even Voldemort knew it, Draco was shocked to feel a warm hand covering his mouth.

"I need you to cast a Silencing Charm," Harry continued, trying not to move. Or breathe. Gods, his chest hurt.

After casting the spell, Draco, annoyed at still having his mouth covered, jabbed his left arm backwards, and stumbled as Harry jumped back with a soft hiss of pain.

Harry's vision swam as he blindly reached a hand out for balance. There was nothing to grab onto and he fell, head slamming back against the stone floor.

_What the bloody hell do I do now?_ Draco asked himself as he stared at the unconscious form of his so-called master.

At least the Silencing Charm had been cast, so no one would have heard Blackwell fall. For a second, he considered running, but knew any escape attempts would be futile. He couldn't Apparate from inside the manor, couldn't get out without getting both himself and Blackwell killed. Not to mention the fact that he was basically burned out.

No, any chance of getting out required a living Death Eater. He looked down again, and suddenly wondered if Blackwell was still alive. The fall had been pretty hard, after all.

He knelt, extremely grateful for the spell, whatever it had been. Maybe he was doing more damage to himself by not being able to feel, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Putting a few broken fingers to the black-haired boy's throat, Draco didn't see him stir.

Before he could blink a wand was at his throat as a deadly voice asked, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Making sure your clumsiness didn't kill you," came the biting reply. Draco instantly cursed himself, waiting for a blow, surprised when instead he heard a soft chuckle.

"So they haven't broken you yet. I wondered." Harry tried to sit up, yelling, "Fuck!" as he was reminded unpleasantly of his ribs. "Malfoy, get my pack."

Draco looked pissed at being ordered around, but obeyed with protest. Better not to get beaten for stubbornness. "Yes master," he muttered sarcastically as he searched the pack. Finding it in the bedroom on a night table, he picked it up gingerly with his left hand and went back to Blackwell, dropping it unceremoniously next to his head.

"Be careful!" Harry yelped, hoping Snape's unbreakable jars really were unbreakable. _I think I'll Avada Malfoy if they aren't._ The idea of killing the blonde boy wasn't as comforting as it would have been at Hogwarts. _He's my only ally here, where I'm surrounded by those who would happily kill me if they knew who I was._

Raising his head, he rifled through the bag's contents, finally pulling out a vial of what looked like liquid diamonds and cost ten times more.

"Phoenix tears," Draco breathed. "Where'd you get those?"

"Stole them," Harry answered shortly. He pulled up his robes as far as he could, suddenly thankful that he hadn't bothered with a shirt underneath. He spilled a few drops onto his chest and felt the spreading warmth that meant he'd be able to breathe normally again.

"What happened to you?" _He doesn't even wear a shirt under his robes, he's a thief . . . not bad looking, though. For a torturer. _

 Re-corking the bottle, he sat up as he answered, "Voldemort saw fit to Crucio me until I nearly passed out for not being submissive enough. Bloody bastard."

Draco's eyes widened. _So, Blackwell doesn't respect the Dark Lord, or at least isn't as brainwashed as the rest of these fools. Maybe he'll get me out._ "You should be more careful about what you say," he warned.

Nodding, Harry asked his own question. "They caught you Wednesday?" He put the phoenix tears away and saw Malfoy's eyes follow them longingly.

Realizing what he was doing, Draco met Blackwell's eyes as he answered, "Yeah."

"There wasn't a Death Eater meeting Wednesday night." Harry reached for Malfoy's left hand, the one with the broken fingers.

Jerking back, Draco asked suspiciously, "How do you know?"

"Because I ha-" Harry stopped abruptly. "Because I hear things." He'd nearly said 'because I had detention with Snape.' Of all the stupid ways to blow his cover . . . Malfoy couldn't be trusted, because Malfoy got himself caught. Take no unnecessary risks.

_Oh, who am I kidding?_ He asked himself. _The whole thing is an unnecessary risk._ Sighing, he commanded Malfoy, "Give me your hand."

Draco just looked at him. Bad enough to be tortured, he wasn't going to give himself up willingly.

"I'm a wandless healer," Harry said softly. "I can fix that."

"You're nearly burned out," Draco retorted. "You can't fix anything." _Don't let him get any closer,_ he told himself. _Run if he does._

But as he'd already decided, running wouldn't help; he'd only be beaten worse. If that was possible.

"You don't trust me," Harry said, sounding surprised. _Everybody trusts me. No, _he corrected himself, _everybody trusts the Boy-Who-Lived, not Adrian Blackwell_. The thought made him surprisingly calm, as though he'd needed to be reassured that the glamour was working. "I don't suppose you should." He grabbed the bottle of phoenix tears again and motioned to the blonde. "Come here."

Draco approached cautiously, ready to run. Blackwell was holding out a hand and reluctantly, the Slytherin placed his left hand in it. He was watching the other boy, watching his eyes. _Pull back when they change from serious to mocking, be ready _. . . his whole body was tense, prepared for flight.

He looked down, startled as he felt warmth seeping into his hand. The phoenix tears. Blackwell had actually used them.

Harry smiled lightly as he saw the shock in the other's eyes. "Look, I really am a wandless healer. Voldemort will know if we use wands, though."

"We?" Draco asked dryly. "You don't actually believe they let me keep my wand, do you?"

"Oh, yeah. Does your Silencing Charm cover all of the rooms?" Harry asked as he searched for the wand he'd bought for Malfoy. 

"Yeah. But I'm nearly burned out now." Draco's eyes narrowed as he watched Blackwell rifle through his possessions yet again. Was it going to be weapons this time?

"Is there any other way the Death Eaters can spy on us, besides listening at the door?" Harry asked as he pulled out the box containing the other wand.

"No, the room is protected with privacy spells," Draco answered, studying the box Blackwell had pulled out. _Too thin to be a knife, and the box looks familiar . . ._

"Good. Here." Harry held the box out, snatching it back at the last second. "But only if you'll let me heal you."

"I don't even know what the bloody thing is!" he complained. Seeing the stubborn look in the other boy's eyes, a look that was strangely familiar, he relented. "Fine."

Opening the box, Harry pulled out the dark wand, handing it over as he said, "It's yours, Ollivander knew your other one was going to be broken. 11 inch willow, unicorn hair, phoenix feather, dragon heartstring."

Awed, Draco slowly took the wand, expecting to wake up at any second. _Please don't let this be a dream. _Not really listening to what Blackwell was saying, he raised the wand as he informed him, "I could kill you now."

"You could," Harry began. In less than a second, his wand was at the blonde's throat. "But I wouldn't advise it."

Nodding, Draco shoved the wand into his robes, grimacing as he looked down at himself. He still didn't trust Blackwell, but things were beginning to look up. "I'm supposed to be dead by nightfall," he said conversationally.

"I know," Harry replied. "Now, you have to let me heal you. There's no chance of saving you in this condition. Take off your robes."

_Saving me? I'm not a bloody damsel in distress! _But he said nothing as he tried to remove his robes. Tried being the key word. The numbness was wearing off, and the blood on his robes had dried to his skin. After struggling for a few minutes while Blackwell watched silently, he finally admitted, "I can't get them off."

"I know," Harry answered. He'd been waiting for Malfoy to ask for help, knowing the arrogant teen would only be offended if he offered. "Here, come with me into the bathroom. It might help if they're wet."

Obediently Draco followed, each second bringing more pain as the spell wore completely off. _Ow. Ow. Ow! Damn it, why couldn't Blackwell cast a longer lasting spell? _

The bathroom was fairly nice, marble floors kept warm by a spell, a large shower and even larger bathtub. Harry didn't bother studying it, instead going straight to the shower and turning it on. The water was instantly hot, and he motioned to Malfoy, who winced as he limped over.

"What's wrong with your leg?"

"No idea. I lost track of what they did to me after the first night," Draco answered. His voice was blank, as though he wasn't talking about being tortured.

"Are you going to be able to stand?"

"I'll live." He climbed into the shower, letting out a choked scream and jumping back out as the water hit his face. _I don't know how I forgot about that. _

"Here, let me heal your cheek."

Draco limped over, looking at him curiously. He'd never been healed by someone without a wand. _It'd better not hurt. Not that it could be worse than what the rest of them have done to me._

"Hold still," Harry ordered. Then he raised a hand to the blonde's cheek, not quite touching him.

The magic washed through Draco, feeling warm and soft, but most of all, comforting. He'd never been one for physical contact, but for nearly a week, the only physical contact he'd had was torture, and this was definitely better. _I wonder if I've gone mad. Or perhaps I'm dead. Prisoners of Voldemort don't get rescued. They get killed. Painfully. _

As the wound sealed completely, Harry moved his hand closer, pressing his palm into the blonde's cheek, watching as Malfoy's eyes fell closed. _Soft skin.__ Surprisingly warm. Malfoy always looked so cold. Doesn't matter, don't even think about it. What about Ginny?_ He pulled away quickly, masking his emotions as Malfoy looked up in surprise.

_Anger, guilt, sadness.__ Wonder what his story is? And why the bloody hell he's a Death Eater. _"Thanks," Draco said quietly, turning and limping back to the shower. The water helped a bit, but not as much as he'd hoped. Finally he just tore it up the seams and pulled it off, doing the same with the thin black t-shirt he'd had on underneath. 

He stepped back out after turning off the water. It stung, and most of the cuts were bleeding again.

Harry hissed as he saw Malfoy's back. Or what was left of it. Welts, obviously left by a whip, covered most of it. Many of them had deep cuts at the end, as though the whip had been barbed. Shivers ran down his spine as he felt phantom pain. _They haven't changed their methods much._    

His chest wasn't much better. The wounds were fewer, but they'd been burned on. It looked like a pattern of some kind . . . with dawning horror, Harry realized it was letters. They'd burned the word "traitor" into his skin, running down his chest.

"It looks worse than it is." _But not by much._ For some reason, Draco felt the need to reassure the boy, to get rid of the haunted look in his eyes.

"It doesn't. I remember." It was real now. It had always been dangerous, but Harry was used to playing hero. Standing in front of him, though, was someone who had done more than he ever did, and would never get recognition for it. _If we win, people will glare at him on the street because he's a Malfoy, and he bears the Dark Mark. And if we lose . . . _The thought didn't need to be finished, and he hated even having to think it. Before last summer, it had always been definite, they would win this war, because Light always triumphed over Dark. Now . . . well, nothing was definite anymore.

"Come into the bedroom," he said, voice thick. "I'll heal you there. We'll need the phoenix tears." He turned and walked out, leaving Malfoy to stare after him, wondering again how the hell the blue-eyed boy had become a Death Eater.

The bedroom was sparsely furnished, but obviously expensive. Black silk sheets on a canopied and curtained bed. Two arm chairs, one dark green and the other dark blue, sat facing a large fireplace, though there wasn't a fire burning. A large, cushioned window seat took up one wall, large enough to sleep on with a black pillow at either end.

Draco walked in, studying the single bed with a slight amount of trepidation. He was beginning to think Blackwell was trustworthy, but still . . . he was a Death Eater. And what had he said earlier? "What exactly do you remember?"

"Come sit on the window," Harry said, the opened vial of phoenix tears in one hand.

Draco had to turn his head to see him. It would be nice to be able to see out of both eyes again. Still limping, he made his way to the padded windowsill and knelt with his back to Blackwell. "So, what happened?"

Harry poured some of the phoenix tears onto the blonde's back as he answered, "I've been tortured by them before. Spent a few days in St.Mungo's, being treated for things phoenix tears couldn't fix." The wounds began to close, until all that was left were traces of dried blood. "Turn around; I'll heal your eye myself. Better not to waste the tears, I don't have a whole lot."

Draco complied, facing Blackwell. They were close, close enough for him to see the silver and green flecks in Blackwell's eyes. _Green eyes. . . no! Don't think about him, don't. _"By who?" 

Harry held his hand up to Malfoy's eye, pressing slightly. He felt the magic flow through him again, but he was running low. _I can't burn out, not here._ "You're probably going to feel kind of tired," he warned.

As if on cue, Draco yawned.

Ignoring the question he'd been asked, hoping the Slytherin would forget, he asked, "How long has it been since you've eaten? You look half-dead."

"Thanks," Draco replied sarcastically. "You look wonderful yourself." He yawned again, and catching Blackwell's serious look, sighed and said, "They gave me a piece of bread and a glass of water Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I lost weight because they've been draining my magic to the point it's feeding off my body just to keep me alive."

"I'll try to get us some food." He studied the burns on Malfoy's chest, asking himself, _How__ should I do this? Phoenix tears will heal it, but they might scar, and he doesn't deserve that. _He was faintly surprised to find that he actually cared. _It doesn't mean anything, just that he's the only person I trust here, and he's been through so much. The same things as me, but his _father_ gave him up. That makes it so much worse._ "Umm, this will actually be easiest if you lay on the bed."

Draco nodded and tried to stand. Since the pain he'd grown accustomed to was now gone, his leg seemed to have grown worse, and he stumbled, almost immediately caught by Blackwell.

Gently, Harry lifted Malfoy into his arms, unhappy with how easy it was. _How exhausted must he be to allow himself to be carried?_ Laying him on the bed, Harry went back and picked up the phoenix tears, now nearly empty.

Draco's eyes drifted closed as his head rested on the soft pillow. _Soft, warm,_

_safe.__ . ._ his eyes flew open at the last thought. He wasn't safe here, no matter what Blackwell did. He was in the care of a Death Eater, and would do well to remember it.

 After healing the blonde's leg himself, Harry gingerly dripped some of the phoenix tears onto his hand and then rubbed them onto Malfoy's right arm.

He hissed at the strange sensation. It hurt, but only for a split second, and then the healing warmth was spreading, and the softness of Blackwell's touch on his arm. Yawning again, he let his head fall back onto the pillow, let his eyes fall closed. _Not sleeping, _he assured himself, _just resting._ Within seconds his deep, even breathing signaled sleep.

Looking down on his sleeping rival, Harry was surprised to see Malfoy look so. . . defenseless. There was no arrogance, no mocking sneer, no defensiveness, not even the blankness that was as much a mask as the rest. He seemed peaceful, and for the first time, Harry saw him as just another seventeen year old, like him, who'd seen too much.

With a start, he realized that he didn't hate the other boy, couldn't hate him after this. _Think about it later. Heal him now, before _you _collapse,_ he ordered himself. He yawned, and decided to just pour the last of the phoenix tears across Malfoy's chest.

Draco shivered slightly, then fell still again. The letters branding his chest were healed, but not fully. If nothing else was done, there would be faint scars, a lifelong reminder.

Harry sighed. It was what he'd been afraid of. _I can do this_, he assured himself, but truthfully, he wasn't sure. Without the shields in place he'd be fine, but now . . . he was already so close to being burned out.

Placing both of his hands just above Draco's chest, Harry pulled the magic from inside himself and began healing. One letter gone. Two, three, four. Spots were dancing in front of his eyes, but he needed to do this. There, the second 't' was gone, and the 'o'. His breath was coming in harsh gasps, his vision almost completely black. As the last letter faded from Malfoy's chest, Harry collapsed on top of him, unconscious.

After the announcement at supper all students made their way back to their common rooms, most in a bit of shock. Not being close to Harry and all of his near-death experiences, the fact that he needed to go into hiding startled and scared most of them.

Hermione was seething at the fact that Dumbledore had done and apparently would do nothing at all.

"Then we'll do it ourselves," Ron said determinedly.

She nodded, hoping Ron couldn't see the hopelessness she felt. With a smile that didn't reach her eyes, she said, "I'll go to the library tomorrow." _I'll put everything I've got into saving him. _But a part of her couldn't get over how much the note had sounded like a last goodbye. _Will we ever see him again?_

So, Thank Yous to:

Lyla Hayden: Do you think my boss would accept "I was being threatened with sharp objects and had to stay home and write fanfic" as an excuse? I didn't think so either. Too bad.

Arlaikeeno: Hopefully I spelled that right. Thanks!

spunky slytherin: I know you've been reviewing my other fic too, so thanks for sticking with me! I didn't want either of them raped because, though I have it in my other fic, it isn't actually likely to happen, even in this situation.

Sak: So, I answered a few questions, but there will be a new twist, probably chapter 6 or 7. Hope you like it, and thanks for reviewing!

Also to Sayiera, Ravenfrog, and LadyFortune. **I love all of you guys!**


	5. chapter 5

**Author's Note: **I haven't been online for three weeks, so I've forgotten any and all questions you guys asked. I'll answer them next time, promise. And now, onto the fic…

Draco woke slowly, vaguely aware of damp jeans and a warm weight sprawled across him. He cracked open one eye just long enough to catch a glimpse of black hair. _Harry?_ The thought came unbidden, giddiness rising in him at the possibility, however slim. _What happened?_ Opening his eyes, silver tipped spikes brought back a rush of memories, along with a wave of disappointment.

He was in Voldemort's Manor, he'd been captured. But why . . . oh. _Blackwell. Adrian Blackwell. Phoenix tears, wandless healer. That doesn't explain why he's sleeping on top of me._ Sure, there was only one bed, but it was big enough for both of them to fit comfortably without touching. "Blackwell?" he called.

Harry stirred, snuggling closer to the warm pillow.

"Blackwell! Wake up!" The voice was insistent.

_'M not Blackwell.__ Lemme sleep. _But he opened one eye, to see what was going on. The sight that greeted him made him sit up so fast his vision went gray. "What? What do you want?"

"I want you to stay on your own side of the bed," Draco responded instantly, mostly because he couldn't come up with anything else.

"Ungrateful brat," Harry complained. "I must have passed out healing you." Worriedly he asked, "I did finish, right?" Both of them looked at Draco's chest, Harry turning away as he realized the pale expanse of skin was unmarred. _Giving him privacy, _he told himself. _You just don't want to get caught checking him out,_ said a voice in the back of his head. _Not checking him out, _he argued. _Ginny._ The one word brought the familiar rush of guilt and sadness, helplessness and fury.

Draco watched as Blackwell's face went blank, as though he'd drawn a curtain over his emotions. _He's almost as good at that as I am._ "Thanks," he said softly. Blackwell looked confused. "For healing me," he clarified.

"Oh. Yeah, you're welcome." Harry said distractedly.

Draco waited for him to say something, but he'd gone back to staring off into space. After a few more seconds, growing bored of the silence, the Slytherin asked bluntly, "What are you supposed to do to me?"

Harry looked at him, obviously startled.

"Look Blackwell, I know I was supposed to die a complete and utterly horrible death," he checked the window, "last night. But your lovely master wants me broken first. So, what are you going to do to me?"

"I have no master," Harry answered defiantly.

"And you haven't answered my question," Draco replied. _No master? He'll be taught. Or killed. _

With a sigh, Harry met Draco's eyes as he said, "Go back to sleep. I'm going to take a shower; I'll explain when you wake up." He stood, walking towards the bathroom.

"How do you expect me to sleep in wet jeans?" Draco demanded.

_There's the Malfoy we all know and hate. _"You did it before, I'm sure you'll survive." Harry closed the bathroom door on an annoyed glare. He couldn't say he preferred Malfoy this way (_Who would?_), but at least he was used to dealing with a snarky git, instead of an exhausted, tortured teenager.

After pulling his wand out of his robes and setting it on the marble sink, Harry slowly took off his robes, letting his jeans and boxers fall to the floor. Grabbing his wand, he cast a quick Scourgify, then turned the shower on.

After tossing Malfoy's shirt and robes into the bathtub, thinking they might be salvageable, he stepped under the spray of the showerhead.

The hot water felt good as it pounded against his head and shoulders, fully waking him up. He'd been happier half-asleep, but considering where he was, he felt safer when he was aware of his surroundings.

Idly he wondered how long he could delay the inevitable. Malfoy was starting to trust him, and the last thing he wanted to do was to explain to the blonde how exactly Harry had managed to convince the Dark Lord to give him up.

After wasting as much time as he could, he finally dressed in his now clean clothes and stepped out of the bathroom, fully expecting to see Malfoy waiting for him.

Instead, the other boy was sleeping on the window seat in only his boxers, morning sunlight painting a soft golden glow across his skin, blonde hair a stark contrast to the black pillow.

As Harry unwittingly took a step closer, he realized Malfoy was shivering. _Well it isn't really warm in here._ The stone floor was cold against his bare feet, and his thin robes weren't much help. Malfoy didn't even have robes, and sleeping next to the window . . .

Harry started a fire, then turned to the comforter on the bed. Just before he cast a quick drying charm, he realized the Voldemort probably had a way of tracing wand magic, like the Ministry did. And if the dark Lord expected Harry to have raped Malfoy last night, it could have been messy . . . He cast the cleaning charm, then a drying charm. It couldn't hurt, since it didn't take too much magic, and after over twelve hours of sleep he wasn't anywhere near burned out.

Grabbing the black comforter off the bed, he walked over to window seat, in time to see Malfoy stir and turn a bit. The sunlight showed a red mark around his wrist, where it looked as though the skin had been rubbed raw.

Covering the blonde, Harry looked down at his own wrists. Two scars, perfect circles going all the way around his arms. His mind went back, feeling metal burn into him as Ginny screamed, the scent of burning flesh surrounding him, until it was all he could do to stay conscious and still he tried . . .

Harry shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. _Stop thinking about it!_ He'd been doing fairly well, too, going to classes, talking with friends. If he was quieter, more withdrawn, well, so was Ron, and nobody complained. Now though, being thrown into contact with someone who'd gone through the same thing, being within a few rooms of Voldemort himself, everything was coming back.

_There are more important things at stake here. You can't bring back the dead, so try to keep the living alive. _He left quietly, going through the sitting room and opening the door. The same man, most likely Goyle's father, was standing sentry outside of his rooms. _So they still don't trust me. _"Get me some food," he commanded haughtily.

Apparently the Death Eater was too used to taking orders to question this one, even if it did come from someone less than half his age. Useful.

Harry went back inside, dropping onto the couch and staring broodingly at the ceiling until a knock at the door brought him out of his reverie. Opening the door, he was surprised to see not the elder Goyle, but a house elf, cowering before him.

"Food, sir," she (or so he assumed, it looked female, anyway) squeaked.

"Thanks," he said awkwardly, taking the tray from her. _The house elves aren't tortured here, are they? _He didn't think he'd be able to save them, but he felt bad just leaving them. . . Looking down he saw that the house elf was still standing there. "Yes?" he asked politely.

"How should Holly be punishing herself for interrupting a master, sir?"

_Bloody hell,_ he thought to himself. Then again, most of the house elves he knew from Hogwarts were the same way. "Well, Holly, you didn't interrupt me." _I'm supposed to be an evil Death Eater, Voldemort will notice if I'm nice to his house elves. _"But," he added quickly, "Um, no food for the rest of the day."

Holly looked startled, as though she had expected something more severe. "Of course, sir," she said, sounding more grateful than anything else. She left quickly, wanting to be gone before he could think of a worse punishment.

The scent of food roused Draco, who sat up slowly and looked out the window to judge the time. Keeping the comforter wrapped around him, he walked into the sitting room, where Harry had just sat the tray down. Unthinkingly he reached a hand out to grab a piece of fruit, then pulled back. _"Give him ten lashes with the barbed whip for not asking permission," his father ordered Bellatrix. _He looked up wearily at Blackwell, waiting for his punishment to be announced. _I shouldn't have forgotten!_

Harry looked at Malfoy expectantly, waiting for him to eat. When he didn't, Harry ordered, "Eat. You need it." The surprised look in Malfoy's gray eyes told him he'd slipped up again. "What?"

"Nothing," Draco responded quickly, grabbing the fruit before Blackwell could change his mind.

Harry slid over on the couch, giving Malfoy room to sit. "I need to know what they did to you," he told the Slytherin. _How am I supposed to make it look convincing? I can't torture people. _He hadn't forgotten his pathetic attempt at a Cruciatus at the end of fifth year, when Sirius nearly fell behind the veil. _Thank the gods Snape grabbed his arm._

"You saw what they did to me," Draco replied bitterly.

"But why?" Harry persisted.

Draco looked at him incredulously. "Why do you think? I was spying for the other side!"

"Fine, we'll start with that then. How did you get caught? I know you'd been spying for over a year, I've been told you were a good actor, so what happened? Why now?"

_What? How does he know that? I told them I'd been spying for a month, that I'd been brainwashed by Dumbledore! _It hadn't helped him as much as he'd hoped. They'd called him a weak minded, useless traitor. _Weak-minded.__ Hah! What does that make Pettigrew? _"How do you know any of this?" he demanded. "My father doesn't even know what my wandless is, and I'd only been spying for a month!"

"You have three wandlesses, and you've been spying since the beginning of 6th year." Harry looked at him calmly, waiting for a reply.

Something that would have been fear if he wasn't a Malfoy (_Malfoys__ fear nothing!)_ crept into Draco's eyes. "How do you know?" he whispered. With that information, they wouldn't kill him. _They'll keep me alive, use me. Use mother against me, torture me for sport. No!_ Draco stood, knocking the tray from the table as he ran for the window. _They can't do anything if I'm dead!_

Harry, catching the look in his eyes, dove from the couch, tackling Malfoy to the ground. As the blonde struggled beneath him, he grabbed his arms, pinning them above his head. "Stop!" he yelled, but it did no good. Panic had taken over, the Slytherin was acting purely on instinct, reasoning with him would be useless.

Thinking fast, Harry did the only thing he was sure would work. He used his healing to thrust pure power into the blonde beneath him. It was generally used for people in pain, or those who fought the healers. They'd used it on him at St. Mungos more than once last summer.

Slowly he released Malfoy's wrists, climbing off of him cautiously. His gray eyes looked dazed, and when Harry told him to eat, he obeyed without question.

_Bloody hell._A docile Malfoy, though nice, would not give him the answers he needed if he was going to get them through this. He grabbed some food for himself and hoped it would wear off soon.

"Hey, Padfoot, owl for the both of us," Remus called, his voice carrying through the modest flat into the room where Sirius had just finished getting ready.

"Coming Moony."

Sirius padded into sight, grabbing a croissant as he sat down. Looking at the envelope, or more specifically, the red wax seal, his eyes grew serious. "Who's it from?"

"Dumbledore."

"Order?"

"I'm afraid so."

Sirius nodded solemnly, red was a bad sign. Black meant death, red generally meant capture or danger, orange a lesser danger, and so on. "Well, we have to open it."

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin

I regret to inform you that one of our spies – Draco

Malfoy- has been captured and is presumed dead.

Also, Harry Potter is missing. Good day,

Albus Dumbledore

Remus reread the letter. Still not sure he'd read it correctly, he looked to Sirius, who appeared to be in a state of shock.

"Draco Malfoy was one of our spies??" he asked, too surprised even to be disgusted.

"Yes, yes, after that. Does it say what I think it says?" Remus waved off the part about Malfoy, didn't much matter either way if the boy was dead. It should have occurred to him that Dumbledore must be very stressed indeed not to have used a black seal for Malfoy, or even signed it formally, but the line about Harry was the only thing he could think about.

"Harry?" Sirius looked up at Remus as though the other man could reassure him; tell him the letter was wrong. "After last summer, Remus," his eyes grew dark, "I don't think we can get him back a second time."

Memories were flickering through both their minds, of Ginny Weasley's body, her funeral. Of Harry, who had barely been healthy enough to even attend, who had sat dry eyed. They'd delayed the ceremony until the day he got out of St. Mungo's, the day of his birthday, and had then been forced to send Harry straight back to the Muggles Dumbledore called his family. "We're going to Hogwarts."

**Author's Note**: So, If you can't already tell, this fic is mainly about Harry and Draco, so they get longer parts. I haven't gotten any complaints about that yet, but then again, I haven't read any reviews for three weeks, so . . . Also, I heard that we can't answer reviews in the fic? Has anyone else heard this? Anyway, as of now I'll just be answering questions and saying a general thanks in the beginning author's note, so check there.

** All reviews are appreciated!**


	6. chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for your reviews, they're really encouraging! So, here's the next chapter (And thanks for the cookie!)

An hour later Harry was still waiting for Malfoy to return to awareness when a knock sounded at the door. Nervousness rising in him, Harry stood from his position on the couch and opened the door.

Pettigrew stood outside, a sneer painted across his face. "My master demands your presence. Follow me."

Harry nodded, as though it had been a request and not an order, following him down the hall, through the snake-door, and into what he guessed was the throne room. He bowed at the sight of Voldemort, greeting, "My lord."

"Have you broken him yet?" the Dark Lord asked impatiently.

"Not fully, my lord." Falling back on arrogance, he sneered, "Had you seen him? I had to heal his injuries first. I'll not touch something so revolting."

"You healed him?" Voldemort demanded incredulously. "How? And how do you intend to control someone more powerful than you?" At Harry's insulted look, he added, "Adrian, don't delude yourself. He is more powerful than you."

"I'm a wandless healer, my lord," Harry muttered, still sounding faintly put out. _Malfoy is _not _more powerful than I am._ "At the moment, he's also completely docile, though I'd been hoping to speak with you. Do you have a library here, my lord?"

"Of course," Voldemort scoffed. "What do you take me for, a commoner? The library here is second only to that of Malfoy Manor itself!"

"Of course, my lord, how ridiculous of me," Harry apologized hastily. His scar was causing only a faint headache, and he was suddenly glad of the boredom that had driven him to reapply the salve earlier than necessary. "May I have permission to use it?"

"Permission granted. What do you intend to do?"

"I plan to cast one of the old blood slavery spells, my lord. Bound to me in such a way, Malfoy will not be able to fight my command."

The Dark Lord looked intrigued, as though it had never crossed his mind. "Oh?"

_Bollocks! I'm giving him ideas! Finish explaining and for Merlin's sake, watch what you say! _Harry ordered himself. Maybe improvisation wasn't the best idea when trying to save a spy from the Death Eaters. With every word he said, he managed to make it worse. "Yes, the spells were designed so that the master was safe from their slaves, while leaving all power intact." _Never thought I'd actually _use _anything taught in Binn's class. Huh. Maybe Hermione knows what she's talking about after all._

"Where do you intend to get the ingredients for the potion?" Voldemort asked. He didn't quite trust this boy who appeared out of nowhere. He'd been asking around, and no one knew who had led him here. Besides, there was something about Adrian that didn't fit, as though he was hiding something.

"I have a few Galleons left, and I thought I could buy them."

"You'll use the potions lab and ingredients here," Voldemort decided. _Where I can keep an eye on you._"You may go, Peter can show you to the library."

"Thank you, my lord," with a bow Harry left the room, Pettigrew looking annoyed at having to lead him around yet again.

"Come on then," the Death Eater muttered as he led the way. A few turns later they were there.

Harry stared in awe at the sheer number of books, tomes that resembled those in the Restricted Section, some bound in chains, some shifting suspiciously, still others acting as normal books would. Four walls lined with them, and shelves in the middle of the room similarly filled. _Mione__ would love this._ He turned to ask Pettigrew where the book he'd be looking for would be, only to find that the man had disappeared. _Rat bastard._With a small smile at the insult, he began his search.

Hermione sat at her usual table in the library, the scent old books not comforting today. Leafing through the huge tome in front of her, the fourth one in as many hours, she felt hopelessness crash through her again.

She'd defiantly skipped classes to research, silently daring Dumbledore to do anything. Checking the clock, she realized she'd missed the first fifteen minutes of lunch. _Ron will be worried. But I haven't found anything yet. _

And that was the real problem. What was there to research? Harry had left on his own, and the only thing they could do was try to track him. Hermione had cast the tracking spell in the boys' dorms (easier to get into than the girls' dorms for a boy, but not by much), and nothing had happened.

Generally tracking charms worked by tracing wand magic, making her fear that Harry hadn't taken his wand at all. But some would work by identity. Yet after casting the strongest one she could find, there was still nothing. It was as though Harry Potter had simply ceased to exist.

She buried her head in her arms, a few tears slipping past tightly closed eyes. _How do I help? How do I do anything, when nothing works? Why didn't you come to us, Harry?_

That was how Ron found her a few minutes later, having worried about her absence at lunch. He pulled a chair up next to her, sitting as he put an arm around her shoulders. "Mione."

She turned, burying her face in his shoulder, taking comfort in the contact.

"Shh," Ron soothed. "We'll find him. We'll find him." But in the back of his mind, he wondered. _We found Ginny, too. Please, Merlin, don't let us find Harry the same way._

Harry glanced up, realizing with no small amount of shock that he'd been in the library for two hours. _Malfoy!_ What if his spell had worn off? Grabbing the two most promising books, he walked out into the hall and realized he still didn't know how to get back to his own rooms. _Bloody hell._ There was one way, but if Voldemort felt it, he could most likely figure out who was doing it, and…_Oh, bugger Voldemort!_

Gently, he reached out with his mind, letting down all but his innermost shields in the process. _Almost there, _he thought, knowing instinctively that he was feeling Malfoy's mind. He started walking in that direction.

It was one of the strangest sensations in the world, trying to see with your mind while staying connected to your physical self. It was making Harry dizzy, and finally he had to pull back and replace the shields or risk getting sick all over Voldemort's nicely polished black floors.

He ran the last few feet, wanting to feel the floor under his feet to reassure his mind that it was still connected to his body, and also because, though he wouldn't admit it, he was worried about Malfoy.

A new Death Eater was guarding his door; standing across the hall in what he probably thought was an inconspicuous manner. _Are all of Voldemort's servants imbeciles?_ But he knew the answer to that, and didn't want to think about it.

Pulling open the door, he walked in to see Malfoy sitting calmly on the couch. "Ah, you. I'd hoped they'd killed you," the blonde greeted.

"Good to see you're doing well too," Harry replied sarcastically, setting the books on an end table. He'd seen the flash of fear pass over Malfoy's face, though, gone as quickly as it came. "I won't tell them."

"And I'm supposed to just trust you?" Draco asked skeptically. Inwardly, he was calculating the distance to the window. It hadn't worked before, but. . . "You already put some sort of spell on me, what's to say you won't do it again and then lead me to be tortured?"

"I healed you," Harry pointed out impatiently. "I used my phoenix tears on you, I burned myself out getting rid of your brand! What more do you want?"

"I want you to let me go!" Draco hissed. "Oh goody, so you got rid of my scars, why, so you can redo them yourself?" Slowly, as though speaking to a small child, he said, "You. Are on. The other. Side."

"I'm on your side, you bloody fool!" Harry snapped, pulling up his sleeves to reveal the twin scars around his wrists and the lack of a Dark Mark.

Draco studied them for a moment, looking contemplative, before replying, "Doesn't mean anything. The next initiation is Thursday."

"And the scars?"

"Could have been the Ministry, for all I know," Draco answered.

"Gods, why do you always have to be so difficult?" Harry growled. There was only one more thing he could do, and he really didn't want to. He kept his own permanent glamour on those scars. At Malfoy's stubborn expression, he threw up his hands, snarling, "Fine!"

Slowly he pulled his robes over his head, turning his back on Malfoy. It was the ultimate act of confidence for him, he had never trusted Malfoy not to attack from behind, and he especially didn't trust him now.

Draco stared Blackwell incredulously. _The first rule of combat: never turn your back on your enemy. _Well, he certainly wasn't going to pass up the opportunity granted to him by Blackwell's foolishness. His wand was out before he saw the scars appearing across the other's shoulder blades. H. E. R. O.

Harry turned back around, noting that Malfoy had his wand out. _Slytherins._ "They did it to me, your father among them. It was too late by the time I got to St.Mungo's. The phoenix tears got the poison out, kept it from killing me, but…" he let the sentence trail off, trying not to get lost in memories.

"Wandless healers can't be poisoned," Draco said, but his voice was uncertain.

"Basilisk venom." The dark haired boy said shortly.

Eyes widening faintly, Draco whispered, "Who are you?" _Basilisk venom?__ Only the Death Eaters have that, and even then, only Father and Bellatrix, and Voldemort himself._

"Adrian Blackwell," Harry replied, something dark in his voice, something that warned against asking again. _Damn. Should have thought about that before I said it. He knows as well as I that only the most important people would warrant basilisk venom, Dumbledore and I being the top two. _

"Why are you becoming a Death Eater?" Draco asked curiously, a faintly skeptical note still in his voice. _I can't trust him. I can't trust him. _But all of the evidence pointed towards Blackwell not being on Voldemort's side.

"First tell me how you got caught."

"First get me some food," Draco countered.

Sighing, Harry walked over to the door, opened it, and called to the Death Eater, "Get me some food."

The man looked startled at being addressed, and then called "Holly! Food for the initiate!" Nothing happened, but apparently it had worked because a few seconds later, the house elf from before appeared, holding another tray of food.

Before she could say anything, Harry took the tray haughtily and said, "The same punishment still holds."

Holly nodded and disappeared as Harry walked back in. Setting the tray down on the coffee table as he'd done before, he looked expectantly at Malfoy.

Draco looked down at the tray. Chicken, a salad, fruit, some bread. Remembering that Blackwell wouldn't punish him, he took a piece of chicken and looked back up to find blue eyes still watching him. "What?" he demanded.

"Tell me how you got caught," Harry ordered.

"And if I don't?"

"Don't test me Malfoy. You won't like the results." _Gods, he's such an annoying prat! He'd better not be crucial to saving the world, because casting a nice Avada Kedavra is looking better and better._

Draco looked at Blackwell, whose eyes were flashing in an almost familiar way, and sighed inwardly. He hated giving in, but, well…at least there was food. "I took the Dark Mark just before my sixth year at Hogwarts," he began.

Harry nodded, grabbing some food for himself. "Under your father's Imperius."

Looking over, faintly startled, Draco nodded and continued, "Mother had gone on vacation with some friends the week before. She never came back. Father told me she was dead."

Harry kept seeing the look in Snape's eyes. _"Nor has she been found living." __And she never will be. I'm sorry, Professor. _Realizing Draco had gone silent, Harry prodded, "And?"

"And last week, I was sent to the dungeons, some task to keep me out of the room while Father and Voldemort discussed something. I found her there." His tone was growing angry, "She's been there for over a year and they told me she was dead!" Taking a deep breath, he continued, "She'd been beaten, but not badly. Certainly not like what they did to me, but it wasn't good. She thought I was one of them, come to hurt her." He still saw the look in her eyes, a resigned sorrow, waiting for him to hit her. "I tried to get her out on Wednesday, but something went wrong, and they caught me." He poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice and looked up at Blackwell. His eyes held surprise and sympathy, and something that almost looked like happiness. "Your turn."

"I…found out you'd been captured and knew you were the only student spy. I thought Voldemort might take on another, since I'm transferring to Hogwarts. The Phoenixes need all the help they can get."

"Why would they use basilisk poison on you?" It had been bothering Draco ever since Blackwell had mentioned it. Lucius wouldn't waste it on just anybody, so obviously the boy sitting next to him was important somehow.

"My father was Sirius Black," Harry replied, hoping the lie would suffice. "They thought they could use me against him, and when they found out they couldn't…" _I'm getting better at lying, _he decided. _At least that one won't get me in any trouble._

"The murderer? He doesn't have a son."

"Not that he knows of," Harry replied. "My mother never told him, or so I assume. She died before my second birthday, killed by Voldemort."

"Still, why would it matter?"

"Well, you know Black and Potter were best friends at Hogwarts, right?"

Draco nodded, everyone knew that.

"They did a spell," Harry continued, "One that made them blood brothers. So basically, Harry Potter and I have a blood tie." It felt odd, saying his own name as though he was talking about someone else.

It made sense, in a way. It would explain why some of the things he did looked so familiar, Draco was used to studying Potter when the Gryffindor wasn't paying attention. But Voldemort wouldn't let him live, if everything he was saying was true. "Why are you still alive?"

"They don't know who I am. I trained in Occlumency with some of the best, and I've changed a bit since they last saw me." _Understatement.__ But he doesn't know that. And it's still too much of a leap to guess that I _am _Harry Potter. _He bared his teeth in a semblance of a grin. It still looked predatory. "They'll regret what they did."

Suddenly Draco was glad of the fact that he was on the same side as Blackwell. "What year are you going to be, at Hogwarts?"

"Seventh, same as you."

"And me? What are you going to do with me?" Draco was afraid of the answer. He could fight now that he had a wand, and he wasn't being drained, but then what? He was useless as a phoenix if he couldn't be a spy.

Harry motioned towards the books. "I think I found a way to get you out, but you aren't going to like it."

Draco looked warily at the books. _Blood Bonds and Dark Magic.__ Slavery Then and Now._ "No," he said flatly. "I am not going to be anyone's slave. Ever."

"Do you think it was easy getting in here? Do you think I did it for fun? It's the only way Draco, so deal with it!" _Did I just call him Draco? Bloody hell. Well, maybe it got through that thick skull of his, nothing else will._

"How did you get in here Adrian? Only Death Eaters who are already Marked, or initiates who are led here by a Marked Death Eater can even find the place." It was another thing that had been bothering Draco, one of many where Blackwell was concerned.

Harry looked startled. "I tracked you, with your wand."

"It's not possible, this place is covered in wards." _He looks so confused. Even if he is a good actor, that looked genuine. _

"It is possible," Harry argued. "That's how I did it."

"Have you been here before?" Draco asked, trying to find a reasonable explanation.

"No." _But I have seen it before, when I was in Voldemort's head. I wonder if that counts? My mind has been here, just not my body. I'll have to talk to Dumbledore about that._ "Look, I don't think Voldemort will let me take you out of here until you're my slave, he seems to think you're stronger than me."

Draco smirked. "Of course I'm stronger than you. I'm a Malfoy."

"I wouldn't take so much pride in that name if I were you. Lucius is a murderer, a torturer, and a sadist," Harry frowned. "And stop changing the subject, or I'll leave you here for him and his friends to play with again."

Inwardly Draco shuddered. _No thank you. _"What do you want me to say? 'Yay, I get to be a slave'?"

"I don't want you as a slave anymore than you want to be one, I assure you. You're a pain in the arse, and I don't want to deal with you any longer than necessary."

"The feeling's mutual," the blonde sneered.

Taking a deep breath, Harry let it out slowly as he counted to ten. _I'd have to count to a million before I could get along with Malfoy,_ he thought wearily. "Look, let's start over. I need help researching this so I don't end up tied to you for the rest of my life. You need someone to get you out of this place. Let's work together, okay?"

"Fine," Draco replied darkly. "Give me a book."

**Author's Note:** Ok, I'm not sure how many of you caught Draco's "could have been the Ministry for all I know" comment, but here's a clarification: The marks on Draco's wrists that match the scars on Harry's wrists were caused by handcuffs used to prevent witches and wizards from using magic. When they tried anyway, they were burned because the magic was absorbed into the 'cuffs and turned into heat. In case anyone cares.

Any suggestions about what Draco's other two wandlesses are? I think I know, but it'd be interesting to get someone else's ideas ::hint hint::

**Reviews welcome!**


	7. chapter 7

Author's Note: Sorry all, I know this is two weeks late, I can't update from the dorm. Love you all, thanks ever so for the reviews and the ideas, the next chapter will be coming soon. Enjoy!

Ron and Hermione were ushered into the Headmaster's office as soon as they arrived at the stone gargoyle.

"Ah, Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, good," Dumbledore greeted as they came into sight. "Have a seat." He motioned to the two chairs in front of his desk.

Hermione sat stiffly, and Ron nodded awkwardly to Dumbledore as he took the seat next to her.

"Now, I'd like to begin by asking you to return to your classes Ms. Granger. Even one so smart as yourself cannot pass the N.E.W.T.s without attending classes."

Hermione felt heat rising in her cheeks, but replied, "I'm going to do whatever it takes to find Harry." The words 'even if you won't' went unspoken, but the meaning was there.

"Do you honestly think I would just let Mr. Potter disappear without a trace?" Dumbledore chided gently. "Of course not. I'm working on it, but the situation is delicate, and if you don't want the Death Eaters finding out, you have to act as though everything is normal."

"But Headmaster, none of the tracking charms worked," Ron protested.

"Of course not," Dumbledore replied easily. "Harry has some of the most complex protection charms in existence placed on him." He refrained from mentioning that he didn't know how many would actually work if Harry came face to face with Voldemort.

"I should have thought of that," Hermione muttered.

With a soft smile and twinkling eyes, Dumbledore said, "Don't be too hard on yourself, you managed to do a tracing spell that many grown wizards cannot accomplish. Now, you two go back to class, and I'll inform you immediately when we find him."

They both nodded and walked out, just missing Remus and his giant black dog, who were coming from the other direction.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore muttered dryly as he let them in. _This is going to be fun._ "Have a seat gentlemen."

Remus sat down while Sirius shifted back to human form. "Where's Harry?" he demanded instantly.

"At the moment, your guess is as good as mine," the Headmaster answered, handing Remus the note Harry had left behind. "He left of his own free will. I've checked it with every forgery spell I know. It was written by him, and not under the influence of anyone else's magic."

"Bloody hell," Remus muttered.

Reading the note, Sirius shook his head as he asked, "Why now? What made him decide he had to leave now?"

"After Ms. Weasley's death," Dumbledore began, only to be cut off by Remus.

"That was in July, and it's November now. If that was the only reason, why didn't he leave earlier?"

With a sigh, the Headmaster asked, "Have you heard of the spell book rumored to be written by Merlin himself?"

Both men nodded, it was the holy grail of the wizarding world.

"Well, twenty years ago, we received word that it was somewhere in England. At the time, Voldemort was still at his full power, and didn't notice that some of the Order seemed to be chasing after what was essentially a fairy tale." Meeting their eyes, he continued, "It wasn't a fairy tale. We found it, two years before Harry Potter became the Boy-Who-Lived."

Eyes wide, Remus asked, "Do you have it here?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I believe Professor Snape is currently in possession of the book."

"Snape," Sirius grumbled. He couldn't hate the man who'd saved his life, but he certainly didn't have to like him.

"Severus is researching a spell that would defeat Voldemort for good. The problem is that it requires two very powerful wizards. The only four in existence with enough power to even attempt the spell are Voldemort, myself, Harry, and Draco Malfoy. However, as we all know Voldemort will not perform the spell himself, that leaves three. And there are other requirements, some of which rule me out."

"But Malfoy's dead," Remus said quietly. "Tell me Harry didn't go off to try the spell alone."

"No, he doesn't know any of the specifics of the spell," Dumbledore assured them. "But he was in the room, unbeknownst to Severus and myself, when I said that Mr. Malfoy was needed. That was Sunday night. Later that night, he went to Severus, saying that Mr. Malfoy was alive. He left sometime after Severus told him to see me in the morning."

"So he went to save Malfoy?" Sirius asked incredulously.

"It's a possibility we haven't discounted, although he may have gone off to find a way to kill the Dark Lord by himself. Voldemort's Manor has as many wards as Hogwarts itself. Unless Mr. Potter got himself captured, he wouldn't be able to get in, and even then, he most likely would be taken somewhere else."

"So you're saying Harry could be somewhere out there, trying to get captured?" Remus asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

"Again, it's a possibility, although I tend to believe he's smart enough to know that wouldn't work. Severus is keeping an eye on Voldemort, and I must stress the importance of acting as normal as possible. I've already made an announcement that Harry has been taken somewhere safe, so his disappearance shouldn't raise questions."

"We'll go home," Remus said, knowing it was what the Headmaster wanted. "But first, could we take a look at this spell?"

"Of course. I'll have Severus bring up the book after his last lesson."

The silence was deafening. Every time a page turned, seemingly as loud as a crash of thunder, it seemed to echo off of the walls of the bedroom, where they'd moved to be near the fireplace.

Harry didn't know how long they'd been looking, but _Blood Bonds and Dark Magic _was very possibly the most boring thing he'd ever had to read, next to _Hogwarts: A History_ of course. _Here I thought it would be interesting, dark magic and old forbidden spells. Ha! This guy is as long winded as Professor Binns!_ After the fifteenth sex-slave spell in as many pages, he sighed and turned to Draco, who'd sprawled out in front of the fire. "Have you found anything?"

"Don't you think I would have said if I found something?" Draco replied sharply. "This is a bad plan. Potter himself couldn't have come up with a worse one." Harry snickered. "What?"

"Nothing," Harry answered quickly. "But it's not like you have a better plan, so stop whining."

"I could have a better plan."

"Fine. I'm open to suggestions."

"I didn't say I do have a better plan, just that I could," Draco clarified.

"Wonderful. We're sticking with my plan." The silence stretched between them until Harry asked, "How many spells did it take to get your shirt clean?"

"Seven," Draco answered without looking up. Fortunately, his jeans had only needed a quick drying charm.

"Huh. You're lucky it didn't fall apart." The other boy's once black shirt had faded to gray, and now fit snugly. Not that Harry had noticed, of course. _Oh fine. I noticed, but only because this book is so _bloody _boring!_ He glared at it, and then read the words across the page. **_Not exactly a slave spell, this spell linked two wizards to each other, with the caster being more dominant, but not actually in control. It was banned in 1436 by the Ministry after Taren the Terrible linked himself to Wade the Wicked and took over half of Lichtenstein. _**"Oy, Malfoy-" he started to say.

"Blackwell," Draco growled, "this would go a lot faster if you would just be quiet!"

"I found something, you git," Harry replied, annoyed. "But maybe I should just do one of the hundreds of sex-slave spells. Would you prefer that?"

"You would," Draco shot back.

"Good comeback Malfoy. Bloody brilliant. Now look at this." He handed over the book, watching as the blonde scanned the page.

"It could work," he allowed. "Mark it and keep reading."

_I refuse to read another word of this stupid book. What else is there to do . . . oh, I know. I still need to talk to Dumbledore. _"Malfoy?"

"What now?" he asked exasperatedly.

"If I wanted to talk to someone through the fireplace, would Voldemort be able to tell who I was talking to?"

Draco thought about it for a minute, before answering. "I don't think so, as long as you ward yourself."

"Good. Would you mind going into the sitting room?"

_Must be someone important.__ I should refuse to leave. But he did heal me last night . . . _With an exaggerated sigh he stood and said, "Make it quick, this is the warmest room." His robes had fallen apart when he tried to clean them, so the thin t-shirt was all he had. __

Once he was alone in the room, Harry took out his wand and performed a few complex locking charms, a silencing charm, and then transfigured the doorknob into a lion's head that would bite anyone that touched it. That done, he realized he had no Floo Powder.

Walking over to his pack, he went through it, trying to find something he didn't need. Finally he decided on a Galleon, pulling it out and transfiguring it. Then he removed all of the physical changes, making himself look like, and sound like, Harry Potter again.

Going back to the fireplace, he tossed some of the Floo Powder in and called, "Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." After going through the protection spells, he could see into Dumbledore's office, and shook his head in an attempt to get his bearings. "Headmaster?" he called uncertainly.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked, looking vaguely shocked as he came into view. "Thank Merlin you're alright. Where are you?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry answered, avoiding the question. "I've been talking to a few people, and I found out where Narcissa is. She's still alive," he said excitedly. "Mrs. Malfoy is still alive!"

"I suspected so," Dumbledore said, not sounding nearly as happy as Harry would have hoped. "Come back to Hogwarts, Harry."

"What about Mrs. Malfoy?" he asked, faintly confused. "Aren't you going to get her out?"

"We can't afford to send anyone into Voldemort's territory, Harry. You know that."

"So you're just going to leave her there? To die?" Harry asked disbelievingly.

His eyes were full of a tired knowledge as Dumbledore answered quietly, "One does what one must to win a war, Harry."

"Fine," Harry said angrily, closing off the spell. _If he won't get her out, I'll do it myself. _

Back at Hogwarts, Dumbledore did a tracking spell on the fireplace, unsurprised to find that wherever Harry had talked to him from was unreachable. "At least now we know he's still alive, and unharmed." Going back to his desk, he wondered how much, if anything, he should tell Severus.

Harry replaced the glamour quickly, removing all of his spells from the door with a bit more force than necessary.

Draco walked in, muttering dryly, "You melted the doorknob. Conversation didn't go well, I assume?"

"Not as well as I'd hoped," Harry answered tightly, still seething. _All for one and one for all.__ Isn't that supposed to be the motto of the good guys?_

"Who were you talking to?"

"A useless old fool I though would be able to help," Harry growled. Taking a deep breath, he asked, "Did you find anything else?"

"No," Draco answered dejectedly. "Your spell is the best one so far, and I think it's removable."

"Good. Let's start working on that then, Voldemort said we could use his potions' lab." Harry picked up the book and went to the door, only to see that Draco hadn't moved. "What?"

"You haven't tortured me yet, but it doesn't mean they won't. If it's all the same to you, I think I'd rather stay here."

"They can't touch you, Voldemort gave you to me. Until he takes you away, you're mine."

"How exactly did you manage that?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Well," Harry began, staring intently at the floor, "you know you were supposed to be broken. I was supposed to um. . ." his sentence trailed off.

"Supposed to what?"

"Supposedtorapeyou," Harry answered quickly, still not meeting the Slytherin's eyes.

After taking a few seconds to decipher what Blackwell had said, Draco asked cautiously, "Are you going to?" _Bloody hell, bloody hell, this is not good . . . _

Meeting his eyes, Harry asked, "If I was going to, don't you think I'd have done it already?"When Draco didn't answer, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, faintly startled at how short it was. "Look, you're safe if you stick with me, all right?"

Draco nodded and followed him out into the hall, thoughts somewhere else entirely.

**Author's Note: **So, now everyone knows where Narcissa is, but not why . . . Plus, when is Voldemort going to demand 'proof' of Harry's …uh…relationship…with Malfoy? And the initiation is getting closer...

**Review!!**


	8. chapter 8

Author's Note: I'm soo, sorry everyone, apparently school is a bit more time-consuming than I thought. I have some time off coming up, and hopefully I'll get more work done then. This hasn't been beta'd, because I really wanted to update it, so I apologize for any and all mistakes.

Just in case you were wondering, it is now Tuesday evening in the fic

After checking the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time, Dumbledore sighed and summoned Severus into his office. _Might as well get it over with._

Five minutes later, Snape walked into the Headmaster's office, not liking the expression on his face.

"There's something I need to speak with you about," Dumbledore began solemnly.

"Please tell me Black and Lupin aren't staying."

With a quick smile that didn't reach his eyes, he replied, "No, they're gone. It went better than I'd hoped, actually."

"For you, maybe," Snape muttered. "What's wrong, Albus? It's not Potter, is it?" _Please tell me the foolish boy didn't get himself killed doing something stupid._

"Actually, it does have to do with Mr. Potter."

"Is he still alive?"

"Yes, in fact, he contacted me today. He seems to be doing well, although I suspect he's had some contact with the Death Eaters."

"Why?" Snape asked, curious in spite of himself. _How could he have had any contact with the Death Eaters and still be alive and unharmed?_

"He said- he said Mrs. Malfoy was still alive, Severus."

Snape couldn't stop the faint hope welling up inside of him. "Oh?"

"He said she was being held by the Death Eaters. He didn't say where, but," Dumbledore stopped, not wanting to finish the sentence. Finally he sighed hopelessly as he said, "But we don't have anyone to spare. We can't go after her."

"Of course," Snape agreed stiffly. "Is that all?" At Dumbledore's nod he continued, "Then if you don't mind, I'd like to retire to my rooms, to think."

"Go ahead. Severus," he stopped until Snape turned around. "I wish things were different."

"As do I, Albus. As do I."

They were back in the bedroom, dinner eaten, Harry sprawled on the green chair, Draco on the blue. The potion was simmering in the lab, where it had to sit undisturbed for another hour.

Making it had been possibly the most awkward thing Harry had ever done. He'd thought the silence before was bad, but it was nothing compared to now. Every accidental touch had them both jumping as though they'd been burned, all of his desperate attempts at conversation were met with Draco's bland, one or two word replies.

He'd given up hours before, the silence ringing in his ears. Finally Harry couldn't stand it anymore. "I had to do it, you know."

"Yeah," Draco replied, voice blank.

"It was the only way he would give you up," Harry pressed on desperately, wondering if Malfoy even knew what he was talking about.

"I know."

"I-"

"Look, it's fine, all right?" Draco interrupted.

"It's not fine!" Harry shouted back. Quieter, he continued, "It's not fine, and you aren't helping by acting like a bloody robot."

"What do you want me to say?" Draco burst out. "That it's a hundred times worse than anything they've already done to me? Because it is! That it will break me? Because it will!"

"I'm not going to do it!" Harry denied hotly.

"So you say," Draco muttered. "But why should I trust you?" He'd been thinking about the other boy's confession nearly the whole time, wondering what was going to happen. He couldn't just accept being broken, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it. _Nothing at all.__ Completely powerless._ _But that's what being a slave means, doesn't it?_ He couldn't believe he'd given in so readily, but it was removable, and whatever Blackwell was planning, it didn't seem to be his death. _Sometimes I think death would be the better fate._

_There is nothing I can say, nothing I can do, that will earn his trust,_ Harry thought.It felt so odd, people who'd never met him trusted him, hell, they trusted him with the fate of the _world_. But now, when it might be the only thing that could keep them both alive, Malfoy didn't trust him. He couldn't tell him who he really was, that would only make Malfoy, the one who'd hated him for 6 ½ years, even harder to deal with.Sighing, he said quietly, "Nothing I can do will make you trust me. Nothing I can say will convince you that I'm not out to hurt you, that I'm not on the other side. You're the only one I have to rely on here, and I'm all you've got. Believe me," he added bitterly, "the Phoenixes aren't coming."

Draco had already known, of course, but hearing it stated so bluntly…_So my own side won't even attempt to get me out._

Seeming to understand what he was thinking, Harry added, "If it's any consolation, they think you're dead." _I wonder if they'd get me out? Last summer they did, but it's as though they've already given up. And without Malfoy, they don't even need me. According to Dumbledore, anyway. _He still had no idea what Snape and the Headmaster had been talking about.

"Great," Draco answered dryly. "Wait. How do you know?"

"The same way I knew you were here, the same way I knew how long you'd been spying, the same way I knew you had three wandlesses, the same way I knew Lucius put you under the Imperius."

"And that is?"

"Why should I trust you?" Harry asked ironically, parroting Malfoy's words from a few minutes before. Moving on to something else before Malfoy could ask anymore questions, he asked, "Can you fight the Imperius now?"

"Mostly," Draco answered. "I can break my father's, and a few others, but I've never been cursed by Voldemort, so I don't know." _And I'd rather not find out, if at all possible. _

"Well," Harry said, more to himself than Malfoy, "I can break Voldemort's, so hopefully I'd be able to get you out."

"What happened to your plan, Blackwell?" Draco asked, a faint thread of nervousness woven in with the arrogant mocking tone.

"My plan has been made up as I go along," Harry admitted. "I snuck out at around five in the morning Monday, and came up with as much as I could on the way here."

"Perfect," Draco muttered disparagingly. "We're both going to die."

"We're not dead yet, which is an improvement for you Malfoy," Harry shot back. He almost felt bad as he saw fear pass through Malfoy's eyes, the equivalent of flinching for anyone else. _Almost anyone else.__ We're more alike than I want to think about. _

"If you want me to trust you, maybe you could start by calling me by my first name," Draco suggested finally, sounding a bit defeated. "Potter's Trio calls me Malfoy, and they hate me. Lord Malfoy is feared, despised, and also my father's name." Quieter, he muttered to himself, "I hate him."

"Potter or your father?" Harry asked, wondering why the hell it mattered. _It doesn't, but when I get such a good opening . . . But I don't actually care,_ he assured himself.

"My father," Draco replied instantly, realizing a second later he probably should have said 'both'. _It's not as though he'll be talking to Potter,_ he rationalized. _Besides he'll be Marked, and Potter wouldn't associate with a Death Eater, whether or not they're a spy._ _Bet he's enjoying my absence, _he thought bitterly.

Harry nodded once, ignoring the faint spark of almost-happiness at finding out Malfoy didn't hate him. _One less enemy to deal with.__ Although I still have way too many. _"All right. Draco. Call me-call me Adrian." He'd nearly said Harry. Too tired to really care, he thought sarcastically, _This__ is going to go well._

They were in the potions lab, Draco holding a knife to his palm, when Harry cried, "Wait!"

Draco jumped, the knife slicing deeply. As blood began to pour, he yelled, "Fuck Adrian, what's wrong with you?"

Harry took the knife and set it gently on the table, reaching for Draco's hand. "Lord Voldemort can track wand magic like the Ministry, and this is wand magic. There's too much for either of us to be able to do wandless. He's going to know the spell isn't permanent, isn't even true enslavement." His voice was low, his eyes darting between Draco's eyes and the door.

Draco hissed as Adrian touched his hand. Casting a quick silencing charm, he answered, "I thought you knew."

"Knew what?" Harry sealed the wound, watching as pale skin knit itself back together. Running two fingers over the blonde's palm, he muttered, "Can't even tell it was there."

Draco fought back a shudder at the touch. _As if I need any more complications. I am _not _attracted to Adrian Blackwell. _"One of my other wandlesses is Cloaking." At Adrian's blank look, he smirked. "I can basically make anything invisible, wandlessly."

"Can you do it with a wand?" Harry asked hopefully. _That would be useful . . ._

"That would defeat the purpose, Adrian," Draco said a faint trace of scorn in his voice.

"How does it work, then?" Harry asked, slightly defensive.

"It's . . ." Draco searched for a way to explain. "It's a bit like – like weaving an invisibility cloak into the spell, or potion, or whatever. If you did it with a wand, the spell itself, for invisibility, would still be detected."

"So you could slip someone Veritaserum, or poison, and even if they were looking for magic, they wouldn't be able to sense it?"

"Yeah."

"Useful," Harry muttered, imagining all of the things Malfoy _could _have done to them, and hadn't. Especially with the Veritaserum . . . there were a few things he didn't want anyone to know. Suddenly he liked the blond a bit better.

Draco looked at the potion, which was deep green, nearly black, and beginning to bubble. "It needs the blood."

Harry handed him back the knife, hilt first. Draco's blood would go first, since there would be less of it. "You shouldn't have healed me," Draco complained as he held the blade to his palm again. "Now I just have to cut it again."

"And I'll heal it again," Harry replied softly.

Draco gave him a grateful look, and quickly drew the blade down his hand. Holding the cut over the cauldron, he let four drops fall, the potion smoking and turning faintly blue. "Your turn, Adrian."

Harry took the knife, slicing at his left hand. The pain took a second to register, and he knew he'd cut too deep. _Bloody hell._ He held his hand over the cauldron, watching blood pour. This was the part that would determine just how much power he had – how much blood he was willing to add. Once the potion was an aqua-marine color, he pulled back, meeting Draco's faintly relieved eyes. He could have let it go to sky blue, in which case the Slytherin would have had little more power than a slave. "Give me your hand," he commanded.

"But yours," Draco protested, looking at the blood now dripping down Adrian's wrist.

"I can't use my magic to heal myself. It's going to have to wait." Rolling his eyes at the other's reluctance, he reached out and took Draco's hand, pouring power into it. The wound sealed up instantly, leaving Harry panting for breath. He should have knitted it back together instead of just using raw power, but the pain in his hand was distracting.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," he waved his hand vaguely. Using one hand, he tried to lift himself onto the counter. It didn't work, and with an exasperated sigh he used both hands, leaving a bloody handprint from his left.

Draco looked faintly sick. "Adrian, do you have the phoenix tears with you?"

"No, they're in the room." Catching Draco's look, he added, "You're not going back to get them. I'm fine."

"No, you bloody well aren't!" Draco exclaimed angrily. Quieter, he hissed, "I may have to be your fucking slave to get out of this hell-hole, but I am _not _going to be a submissive little servant, bowing to your every whim. You aren't fine, so stop lying! If you're too bloody stubborn to get the phoenix tears, let me heal you."

Harry wasn't sure how he felt letting an angry Slytherin point a wand at him, but relented. He couldn't very well expect Draco to trust him if he didn't trust Draco. "Fine." He held out his hand reluctantly.

Draco pulled out his wand, casting a complex healing spell. The bleeding slowed and stopped, Adrian's hand healing, though the blood was still there.

Harry clenched his jaw as nausea rolled through his stomach, a headache beginning behind his eyes. He always reacted to being healed this way, ever since he'd begun to develop his own healing magic.

Confused for a second, comprehension dawned as Draco remembered that most powerful healers didn't respond well to being healed themselves. Walking over to the sink he grabbed a towel and soaked it in cold water, bringing it back and cleaning Adrian's hand.

Harry had jumped at the cold, eyes flying open. He watched as Draco cast a quick "Scourgify" on the towel and ran more cold water, bringing it back.

He held it out to Adrian, a peace offering for all of the fighting that day. "This might help."

Harry nodded and winced as it worsened the headache. "Thanks. It won't last long." Holding the cool cloth to his forehead did help, and within ten minutes, the headache was mostly gone. Looking over at Draco, who'd always been better at potions, he asked quietly, "How much longer?"

"Another fifteen minutes boiling, and then we need to cool it instantly, ice or a cooling spell. The book," he looked scornfully at the open pages, "suggests snow, but that just goes to show the author's idiocy. Snow isn't pure enough, a spell is best. After we cool it, we can bottle it, and let it sit outside until dawn, absorbing the moonlight. It should be ready tomorrow."

"Thank Merlin it's not a new moon," Harry muttered, and Draco nodded vaguely, eyes still on the directions.

They sat this way for a few minutes, until Harry grew bored. "Can you make yourself invisible?"

"Why?"

"Just, can you?"

"Of course. I could make the whole bloody castle invisible, if I wanted to burn myself out in five seconds flat."

"Do it."

"Why?"

"Because I'm bored."

Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. _I can definitely see the relation to Potter._ He made himself invisible, cuffing Adrian lightly.

"Hey," Harry complained.

"Your fault," Draco replied laughingly, smirking as Adrian tried to turn towards the sound of his voice.

After being hit two more times, Harry stopped trying to hear where Draco was, and closed his eyes, doing the same thing he'd done earlier that day to find his room. Right . . . there! He caught Draco's hand just before it hit him.

Slowly, silver eyes wide with shock became visible. "H-how in the seven hells did you manage that?" he breathed.

With a quick grin, Harry replied, "magic."

Author's Note: I had to end in a semi-cute fashion, because I wanted something happy. So, coming soon . . . more about Narcissa and Snape, Voldemort questioning Blackwell (how _did_ he get in?), some Harry/Draco (finally!), and Initiation. Will Harry take the Dark Mark? Will Voldemort want proof of Draco's brokenness? Ok, I'm gonna go write now, because this is beginning to sound way too much like a soap opera (I haven't been watching them . . . I haven't!) J


	9. chapter 9

Author's Note: An update! So, thanks everyone for the reviews, love you all, and I'm working on the next chapter right now. Again, no beta, so hopefully it's ok. I had two days off. Completely off, no work, no school . . . so I wrote fanfic . . . I don't need a life at all . . .

Time: (I'm starting this because I've now managed to confuse myself) Tues night/Wed morning

Draco was sitting in front of the fire, his eyes full of darkness. It was strange to begin with, the blonde was usually closed off from everything, and added to the way he was sitting, curled tightly in a ball instead of sprawled elegantly, it was worrying Harry.

Trying to keep himself from asking questions that wouldn't be appreciated, he walked to the window seat, where the potion was sitting in two glass vials, the window open and a barrier spell encasing the whole seat to keep the cold air out of the room.

It was the third time in fifteen minutes, and Draco sighed. "It still doesn't look any different, Adrian. Let it be."

"Huh? Oh, fine." Harry sat back down, glance alternating between Draco and the fireplace, as though the dancing flames held an answer. He fidgeted, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair, tapping his foot, shifting around.

Turning slowly, Draco gave him a _look_, the kind that usually froze the blood of whoever was on the receiving end. Adrian just met his eyes calmly, and finally Draco had to look away. _Stupid Blackwell._The only other person that look _didn't_ intimidate was Potter. Hell, he'd even managed to frighten _Snape_, for Merlin's sake. "What do you want?" he asked quietly.

"It's just . . . what's wrong, Malfoy? I've never seen you like this."

"Seen me like this?" Draco repeated scornfully, sitting up. "You've known me for a day, Blackwell, and a lot of it was spent sleeping. You've seen me tortured, and asleep. That's it."

"Well . . ." Harry threw up his hands helplessly. "Fine! Fine. You're right. I don't know you. But something is wrong."

Draco held up a hand, counting off on his fingers as he said, "I have been given up to the most evil wizard in the world, by my father, no less, I have been tortured, I've been informed that the side I went through all of this for won't even _attempt_ to save me, and now I'm going to become a slave, a fucking _slave_, just to get out. If we don't get killed first. And it was all for nothing!"

Harry wanted to stand, to walk over and offer some sort of comfort, but instead he just continued to stare into the fire as he repeated softly, "For nothing?"

"She's still here, being kept prisoner, tortured. I may as well have done nothing, for all the good it did," the Slytherin answered in a harsh whisper. _I was utterly useless. Again. As always. _

"I won't let them leave her here," Harry said fiercely, trying not to wonder why he suddenly felt the need to rid his rival of his hopeless expression.

Draco looked up, startled. "What?"

"It won't be for nothing." _I won't let everything they did to you be for nothing. Only one of us needs to have suffered needlessly. _

Draco didn't know what to say to that._ Just bloody brilliant. I refuse to fall for another hero. _"Thanks, Adrian, but I don't see what you can do."

Harry wished he had a reply to that, but he couldn't think of anything. What could he do? _But I'm _going_ to do something. For Draco and for Snape, and for Narcissa herself. I _will_ get her out of here. _He saw Draco try to hold back a yawn, and said quietly, "Go to bed, Draco." When it looked as though the blonde was about to protest, he added, "You were just healed yesterday. You may _look_ fine, but you're exhausted. I remember. Plus, your magic is still replenishing, and you used it today. Please, just go to bed."

"Fine," Draco snapped, tired of the not-quite-comfortable silence.

Harry looked away, a faint blush staining his cheeks as the Slytherin stripped to his boxers. The faint sound of the sheets being pulled back and someone slipping into them reached his ears, and a few minutes later, Draco's deep, even breathing could be heard.

He didn't know how long he spent staring into the fire, forming and discarding plans to get Narcissa out before finally deciding that he needed sleep if he was going to continue this charade.

Walking over to the bed, Harry could see Draco shivering, hands clenched tightly on the bed covers. His face was tight with imagined pain. Reaching out without thinking, he ran a gentle hand through silky blonde locks.

"Shh," he whispered, faintly surprised when pale features smoothed and softened into a peaceful expression. He yawned, and looked warily at the bed. _I really don't want to sleep on the chair . . ._ The bed was big enough for both of them to sleep without touching, right? _Of course_, he assured himself.

He let his robes and jeans fall to the floor, climbing into the other side of the bed, and falling asleep almost instantly.

_Snape was sitting in an arm chair, staring into a roaring fire, a glass of brandy in his right hand. Harry had never seen his expression so dark. _

_"I guess this is my last goodbye, 'Cissa." The potions master muttered, tossing back the brandy in a single swig. He looked at the now-empty glass in his hand with a faint hint of surprise, as though he hadn't expected it to be gone. _

_Standing slowly, he refilled the glass, moving back to the chair and falling into it with a distinct lack of grace that made Harry wonder exactly how many glasses his professor had already had._

_"I love you more than he ever could you know," Snape mumbled into his brandy. "Since seventh year, when you kissed me." His voice broke as he finished, "I'm so sorry I can't save you."_

_Harry watched in horror as a single tear trailed down the dark haired man's face. Crying? Snape wasn't capable of anything so human as crying. "Professor?" he called softly. _

_Just as Snape's eyes flew up, the dream changed. _

"Potter?" Snape asked, eyes moving vaguely around the room. He could have sworn he'd heard the annoying Gryffindor's voice. He shook his head distractedly, watching in interest as the room began to spin. He was alone. "And drunk," he muttered aloud. Carefully he stood, moving towards his bed. Morning was going to be hell.

Draco woke from another nightmare just in time to receive a sharp kick. "Wha-" silver and black hair caught his attention. "Blackwell," he snarled. He was about to kick the other boy back, or maybe just shove him onto the floor, when he heard a quiet whimper.

"No, no, you can't have her, take me, anything, just leave her," his voice faded into silence, tears streaming from behind closed eyes as he continued to thrash and fight invisible captors.

Moving over in an attempt to wake Adrian, Draco barely dodged the fist that flew at his face. "Damn it, Adrian!" _I refuse to sleep on the couch, or the floor._ Grabbing the comforter, which was tangled near the foot of the bed, he threw it over the black haired boy, diving on top of him, effectively trapping him.

"No!" Harry yelled, struggling weakly.

Leaning down near the boy's ear, Draco whispered, "For Merlin's sake, Adrian, calm down." His voice seemed to sooth him, and he continued, "I'm exhausted, and I don't fancy waking up with a black eye because you had a bad dream." Sleepily, he let his head fall on Adrian's shoulder, still whispering until he drifted into better dreams.

Harry woke slowly. He could feel the dried tear tracks on his face, but there was a comforting weight sprawled across his chest. Opening bleary eyes, he caught a glimpse of blonde hair, and wondered when Draco had closed the distance between them. "Drake," he mumbled. "Get off."

Draco shifted, legs tangling with Harry's (the comforter was at the foot of the bed _again_), hand curling on his shoulder. "Sleeping," he muttered, breath ghosting past Harry's ear.

Harry squirmed uncomfortably, trying in vain not to notice the way the other boy's hips were pressed into his. _Ginny, Ginny, Ginny_, he chanted, but it wasn't helping when he could smell Draco's hair, and feel him warm and alive on top of him._ NO! I am not at all attracted to Draco Malfoy!_ Frantically he pushed the other boy off, jumping out of the bed and racing into the bathroom, hands gripping the cool porcelain of the sink in a useless attempt to bring himself back to reality.

His breathing was ragged, heart pounding furiously. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he met his own wide eyes in the mirror over the sink. "Bloody fucking hell."

Snape woke up to someone pounding on his door, and immediately wished he hadn't. "Coming," he yelled, his own voice setting off the stampeding centaurs in his head. He stood, fighting back nausea, and stumbled to the door. Opening it, he met the bright blue eyes of the Headmaster. "What do you want?"

"Lessons began an hour ago." He put a hand on Snape's shoulder, stopping him from rushing back into his room. "I cancelled your morning classes." He knew how much the potions professor hated anyone taking over his class.

"Fine. I repeat – what do you want? Because I would really like to get some of that anti-hangover potion I brewed for Madame Pomfrey last week."

"I came to apologize, Severus."

Snape sighed. "Apologize, Albus? She's going to die while we sit here doing nothing. And I know that we can't do anything, but-" he stopped. "Apologize later, Albus, because right now, I don't give a damn." He closed the door in the Headmaster's face without giving him a chance to reply.

Author's Note: K, I'm not sure who caught this, but Snape heard Harry's voice and not Adrian's because Harry was sleeping – he only changed physical, corporeal things, and his mental voice (which he used when trying to get Snape's attention) still sounds like himself.


	10. chapter 10

Author's Note: Yeah, it's been awhile. There are a million and one excuses, some that might even be interesting, but we're just gonna skip those. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, without them I would have given up a long time ago.

Time: Wednesday morning

Breakfast had been a silent event. Adrian hadn't even met his eyes the whole morning. Now Draco stood in the shower, letting warm water wash past closed eyes and ribs that were still too visible, over firm abs and slim hips, down to his feet. _It's because I was sleeping on him, isn't it?_

He fought back the hurt that came with the thought. _I sure can pick 'em – the purest of pure Gryffindors and now someone who's terrified that I fancy them._ It was the only reasonable explanation for Adrian's reaction that morning – he was straight, or at the very least, not interested. _But I'm a Malfoy. _Years of training had ingrained the phrase, and he easily put on an indifferent mask. _At the very least, Adrian will never know._

With a quiet sigh he stepped out, grabbing a towel Adrian had had their house elf bring. He could have just cast a drying charm, but he was stalling, and he knew it. Finally he pulled on the same clothes he'd been wearing for nearly a week now, and stepped outside. "Shower's free." His voice was cool, empty.

Harry looked up in surprise, not understanding what was different at first. Seeing Draco's eyes brought all of it together though. He hadn't seen them look quite so emotionless, hadn't heard that tone of voice since before this mess started. _Great.__ He's reverting back to the old Malfoy._ A year tied to the insufferable bastard Harry was just remembering Malfoy could be was beginning to look a lot like hell.

"When do we need to do the spell?"

"We could do it now, I suppose." Draco hadn't missed the faintly worried look in Adrian's eyes when he looked up, and it hurt. It made him want to lash out at the other boy, an urge he barely refrained from. _I'm going to be tied to him for a long time, it doesn't need to be worse than it already is._ He rather doubted it could get much worse, though.

"Let me take a shower, and then we can do it." Without waiting for a reply, Harry turned and walked away, not seeing the flash of pain and annoyance in silver eyes that followed him until the bathroom door closed.

Twenty minutes later, short hair still wet because he hadn't bothered to dry it, Harry emerged.

Draco was laying in bed on his stomach, book open in front of him, going over the spell. _Gods, I don't want to do this._ His chest was tight with fear and hopelessness. There was no other way out. No way but to be tied to a boy his age, a boy he'd known for less than a week.

He'd heard the door open, and sat up resignedly. He was out of choices. "Ready?" His voice was sarcastic, bordering on angry. _Don't make me do this._

"Yeah." Harry couldn't look at him. Now that it was coming down to it, now that the crazy plan was becoming reality, he wasn't sure it was such a good idea. Draco was going to kill him if he ever found out exactly _who_ he was tied to. _And what if something goes wrong? What if we can't remove it?_ "Yeah," he repeated. _There are no other options. _

Draco nodded and grabbed the vials, handing one to Adrian, making sure their hands didn't touch.

Harry looked at him, but Draco was looking down at the potion. _What was that? Did he – this morning. Something changed this morning. Oh gods, he knows I – I do NOT fancy him!_ "Draco, I-"

"We need to start this." _I don't need to hear your apologies, we both know this is necessary. _"Do you have your wand?"

Harry held it up, and Draco gave him a strange look. "What?"

"Last night, you cut your left hand. Why didn't you cut your right, if your left is your wand hand?"

_Bloody hell._ "Ambidextrous." The answer came out a bit too rushed, but if he noticed Draco decided not to comment. "What do we need to do?"

"Stand here," Drcao commanded, pointing to a spot directly in front of the fireplace. "Good. Now face the window. Just a step to your left, okay, stand still. I can do this part, just don't move."

_I hope he knows what he's doing._ Harry stood perfectly still, watching Draco move around gracefully, his soft voice speaking words in a language Harry didn't recognize. Finally he stopped, facing Harry from about two feet away.

"Drink it now." His voice was urgent.

Harry did, swallowing the entire vial. It tasted strange, a faint hint of copper from the blood, but mostly like snow and something oddly sweet. Suddenly he could hear the blood pounding at his temples, and Draco's voice sounded very far away as he said, "Repeat everything I say!"

They were holding hands, Harry noticed vaguely. When had that happened? And where was all of the wind and blinding light coming from? He could hear his voice following Draco's, which seemed to be growing weaker.

And then all of the sound disappeared, and Harry's vision was going black around the edges. He met Draco's eyes and tried to say "I can't finish this," but only got as far as "I can't" before he collapsed.

One more sweeping motion with his wand and Draco fell to the ground, having just enough time to wonder why Adrian's eyes had flashed vivid, Avada Kedavra green, before he lost consciousness.

Author's Note: The chapters keep getting shorter, I know, but big things are coming up. Finally some H/D (or should I say A/D?) action, Harry finally goes off to rescue Narcissa, the Initiation is creeping closer, and Draco can't stay in the dark about Adrian's identity forever.

Reviews always welcome!


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** I know it's been a ridiculous amount of time, life is crazy like that. To those of you who reviewed before…well, wow, I can't believe you still bother to check if I update. But…I have been writing! I'm about to go off for three weeks, no internet, but I think I'll get more done then too…so, till then…tips hat and dodges tomatoes

Btw, it's **still** Wednesday.

Ron was sleeping in Binn's class, not an uncommon occurrence. In his mind, though, he was far from Hogwarts, back at the Burrow, flying in his back yard. There was a strange popping sound, and suddenly Harry was there.

"Harry?"

Harry looked just as confused as Ron. "What the-Ron? Why are you here?" Looking around, he realized where he was. The last thing he remembered was the spell, with Draco. The spell he hadn't finished. . . "Why am I here?"

'

"What's going on?" Ron was beginning to look worried.

"Shouldn't you be in class?" Harry quickly went through the schedule. _Wednesday, that would be . . . History of Magic. _He looked around again, and noticed that they were no longer at the Burrow, but on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and he didn't remember going there. _Almost as though . . .Am I in Ron's dream? But that isn't possible. . . _"Ron? Are you asleep?"

As soon as he asked, Harry could feel the world begin to tighten, for lack of a better word. "No!" He grabbed onto Ron. "You need to stay here."

Ron looked startled, but the world settled back down, and they were now in the Gryffindor boy's dorms. "What's going on Harry?"

"I think I got into your dream somehow." He sat on his bed, Ron sitting down across from him on his own bed.

"Oh." Ron seemed to take this in stride. "Why?"

Harry paused to consider his words before answering. "I was in the middle of a spell, and I think something went . . . a bit wrong."

"What spell?" Ron had had a chance to think now, and asked, "Where are you mate? We're all worried here."

"Don't worry, I'm fine. Are you going to remember this when you wake up?"

"I don't know." Ron shrugged. "Probably. Why'd you take off without us Harry?"

Harry's face darkened as his voice grew soft. "I had to Ron. There was something that needed to be done, and I'm not risking you and Hermione. I won't lose you the way I lost Ginny."

The world was fading out again, everything growing tight. Harry had just enough time to yell, "Ron, don't forget this!" before he was thrown back into his own head. Painfully.

There were a few seconds of wondering if he was going to be sick before his stomach settled. Nausea gone, he could suddenly feel the effects of falling on a stone floor, and then having someone land on top of him.

Following that train of though, he craned his neck enough to see the blonde head resting on his chest. _Sure, he gets a nice pillow to land on_.

Draco was just beginning to stir when someone knocked at the door.

Both boys were scrambling to get up, legs tangling, arms thrashing. The end result, just as Peter Pettigrew walked in, was Harry on top of Draco, arms braced on either side of the blonde's head. Draco's eyes were watering from the pain of his head slamming against the unyielding ground.

Meeting the eyes of Voldemort's personal servant, Harry realized exactly what it looked like, and allowed his eyes to go dark with anger. "Yes?" His voice was tight with impatience. "And make it quick, we're in the middle of something here."

Draco tensed, eyes going wide. _We are not! _He pretended not to hear the voice in the back of his mind, the one wishing they had been "in the middle of something."

Pettigrew looked disgusted. "Yes, well, my lord requires your presence, as well as the traitor's."

"Why?" Harry knew he sounded faintly distracted, he couldn't help it. _I'm on top of Dra-Malfoy! Must think of him as Malfoy! _

Draco shifted his hips, trying to get Adrian's attention on him so that he could convey to the dark haired boy exactly how stupid that question had been. _No one questions Voldemort._

_Draco, that's not helping!_ Harry thought frantically. A squirming boy beneath him was not doing anything to improve his concentration.

Mouth tightening, Pettigrew echoed Draco's thoughts in a menacing voice. "No one questions the Dark Lord."

_Oh damn. _"We'll be there in a minute. I need to…clean up."

The suggestiveness of his tone was not lost on Pettigrew, who flinched and practically ran out of the room.

Once he was gone, Draco reached up, pushing Harry off of him and sitting up. "Clean up?" he asked sardonically.

"It worked didn't it?" Harry shot back defensively. "So, how does this whole slave thing work? Voldemort is going to want proof."

"You have control over my magic now. If you start to burn out, you can tap into me." Draco replied, completely without emotion. "We can speak telepathically, if you aren't blocking me out. I can't block you. The rest, we'll basically have to fake until I can do some more research."

"I'm sorry, you know," Harry said. He could tell Draco was horrified by the entire situation, hear it in the empty voice, read it in the empty eyes.

"Bit late for that now, isn't it?" Draco stood, avoiding the blue eyes he knew would be full of compassion. Blue – "Adrian, your eyes turned green before you passed out."

"What?" Harry winced at the shock and fear in his tone. _Great, just fucking great.__ He _can not _find out who I am. _He cleared his throat. "Just a strange side effect, I'm sure."

"Change in appearance is rarely a side-affect, and if it had been, your eyes would have been my color, not green."

"Draco please, whatever it was, my eyes are blue now, right?"

The blonde nodded reluctantly.

"Then let it go. We need to prove to the Dark Lord that you're now broken." Harry couldn't completely keep the hopelessness out of his voice.

"Fine. But we're discussing this when we get back." The statement came out sounding like a threat.

Five minutes later two boys, one tall and dark haired, the other shorter and blonde, entered the throne room to see a hideous monster with glowing red eyes.

Harry bowed, as was becoming customary, and greeted Voldemort with a soft, "My lord."

Draco made no move to do anything until Harry shoved him to the ground, earning himself a shocked look. "You will respect the most powerful wizard our world has ever seen."

"My lord." The words forced from Draco's throat were barely audible and full of bitterness.

"You call this broken, Adrian?" Voldemort demanded, motioning to the blonde still on his knees. "That was no more respectful than he was when we first caught him!"

"And how long did it take you to get him to bow at all?" Harry asked haughtily, barely resisting the urge to kick Draco in the ribs. If the blonde got them caught, he wouldn't have to worry about Voldemort. Harry would kill him with his bare hands. _Damn it Draco!_

Draco winced, clutching his head, choking back a whimper. The fury held a physical attack, and he gasped, realizing he'd been holding his breath. _Please . . ._

Harry could tell something was wrong, and his eyes widened slightly when he heard Draco's pleading voice in his head. Worry immediately drowned out the anger, and as Draco slowly stood, Harry threw up even more shields, not caring that Voldemort could feel it. How far was he slipping if Draco could get into his head?

"Hurt. . ." Draco whimpered. All of the torture he'd been through without a sound, and now this, being cut off completely from Adrian, drew pained sounds from his throat.

"Very good, Adrian." Voldemort said grudgingly. "To discipline without laying a hand on him. Very good."

_Thank Merlin. It's working. _Slowly Harry relaxed, allowing a few of his shields to fade away.

Draco moved slowly closer, until he was standing just in front of Adrian, then he fell to his knees. _There. The prefect slave. _His throat tightened, but he swallowed and didn't move. _It's too late to do anything about, and at least now, maybe I'll get out alive._ More and more he was realizing that he didn't really care if he got out. _What will I go back to? I'm a traitor to Slytherin . . .hah, they'll have to explain to perfect-bloody-Potter that I was spying for his side all along. Maybe then . . ._ Draco's thoughts were interrupted as Adrian roughly grabbed his shoulder, pulling him to his feet.

"Oh, and one last thing." Obviously the conversation had been going on while Draco wasn't paying attention. "I want proof, Adrian. I've been told what Peter walked in on, but that isn't enough. We both know how you earned yourself this," here Voldemort motioned to Draco, "and I need to know that my faithful servants aren't lying to me."

_Oh fuck. _Harry's thoughts were more resigned than anything, he should have known this was coming. Concentrating hard, he found the thread that was Draco in his head, and sent _play along, or we'll leave this room in pieces. _

Draco managed an imperceptible nod.

"Exactly how much proof would you like my lord? Pettigrew over there seemed rather disgusted by the whole thing."

"Very little offends me, Blackwell." Voldemort sneered.

With a bit of a smirk, Harry replied. "Right then. Remember you said that." Then he grabbed Draco roughly by the front of his shirt, pulling him so that they were face to face, as close as they could get with Harry's arm between them.

Shifting so that he could wrap both arms around Draco, _to make it look as though I'm holding him in place,_ he told himself, Harry fisted a hand in the blonde's hair.

Draco let all of this happen as though he was watching it from a distance, not quite believing it. _It's not real. Shit like this doesn't happen. It's not real._ And then he wasn't thinking at all as Adrian's mouth pressed against his. It was a hard kiss, and then his tongue was forcing past, and distantly Draco could feel himself responding, kissing him back.

Hearing a whimper from the other boy, Harry nipped at his lower lip, but something was wrong with that…_It's supposed to be unwilling! Draco,_ he thought loudly.

His name took a second to register, but when it did, the other boy froze, ice-blue eyes flying open.

Harry pulled Draco's head back, bending his neck painfully as he continued the kiss. _It needs to look unwilling. If you can Cloak yourself, I can make it look as though you're fighting me. _

Embarrassed for a second, he didn't respond.

_Don't get all huffy, I'm taking it as a compliment. _Draco could just hear the smirk in Adrian's voice.

_Fine.__ Ready? Now!_

With barely a chance to prepare, Harry did what he could. Voldemort would see tears streaming down Draco's face as the blonde shuddered in horror and disgust.

In reality, both of them were getting lost in the kiss, which had lost the roughness to passion. Draco pressed his hips into Adrian's, causing him to moan and press them together even tighter.

Finally Harry pulled away, asking breathlessly, "May I return to my rooms with him, my lord?"

Rolling his eyes, Voldemort waved a hand toward the door. "Go." As the black-haired boy disappeared, practically dragging the Malfoy traitor behind him, the dark lord sighed. "Teenagers."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** Shockingly, I do still exist, and am still writing, hopefully much more often than I had been…that is, assuming anyone still reads this…

Harry didn't remember getting back to the room, although he did recall one wall along the way, as he'd shoved Draco up against it, pushing himself as close as he could get to the other boy, forcing his tongue past smooth teeth. He retained just enough of himself to keep the glamour over the Slytherin, even as their hips ground against each other.

Once inside, he kicked the door shut and slid his hands beneath Draco's shirt, feeling the muscles in his stomach ripple beneath his palms. He broke away from the kiss long enough to pull the shirt off and throw it across the room, moving in to nip at the blond's neck.

Draco shivered as the other boy soothed the bite with his tongue, hands still playing across his chest. He quickly removed Adrian's robes, finding that he was still shirtless beneath them.

Harry shifted his mouth back to Draco's, swallowing his moan as they fell onto the bed, his hands going down to undo the other's jeans. Draco returned the favor and soon they were clad only in boxers, rocking against each other, hands roaming, learning each sensitive spot, mouths only breaking apart to taste salt-slicked skin.

Harry knew he wouldn't last much longer, it had been too long, and added to the tension of the past few days…"Mmm…Drake," Harry groaned. "Drake I'm gonna-" He finished in a low howl as Draco's hand made its way down, slipping beneath the elastic of his boxers. "Dra-" he panted. "Dra-" And then he was breaking, shattering into a thousand pieces and he'd never felt anything so good.

Draco followed a few seconds later, head thrown back and eyes closed, biting his lip to keep from making any sound. So Harry barely heard the Slytherin whimper his name. His _real_ name. Barely.

Ron and Hermione were sitting together in the back corner of the library.

"So, he told you to remember?" Hermione asked yet again.

Ron tried not to roll his eyes. He really tried. "Yes, Hermione!"

"And what makes you think it was anything other than a dream, Ron?"

"I can just tell," he growled in frustration, earning himself a glare from a few Ravenclaws across the room.

"Well, next time, ask him to tell you something to prove that he's the real Harry and not just a dream-Harry." She patted his shoulder comfortingly, trying to believe that there was something to this. They'd been researching dream magic for an hour, and hadn't found anything. But who was she to disabuse Ron of his hope, after all he'd been through?

"I just hope there is a next time," he muttered.

_K, I realize it's short. You know the drill…review if you loved it, hated it, or have anything to say._


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